


Do I Have To Say The Words

by Tess_Lucetram



Series: So Far So Good [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 06, Angel Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester, Bryan Adams, Dominant Castiel, Fix-It, Frottage, Handprint, M/M, Mates, Song Lyrics, Star Trek References, Sub Dean Winchester, Top Castiel, Winged Dean Winchester, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:51:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3195953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tess_Lucetram/pseuds/Tess_Lucetram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who knew that watching cheesy action flicks could lead to to this?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After lurking around for years, I finally decided to throw my hat in the ring. I was inspired by so many excellent authors in a lot of different fandoms, so thanks to all the wonderful people who contribute their time and effort. So, if anyone doesn't like this piece, I'll only ask them be gentle. It's my first time. (Wink, wink.)

So Far So Good

By Tess Lucetram

Chapter 1

Dean sighed mightily as he flung himself on the crappy motel bed. He tried not to worry about Sam, who’d found a possible lead on another case, and was currently two towns over to investigate. He’d taken the Impala and told Dean not to wait up. He’d just get another room for the night. So, with another salt and burn behind them, he was tired. More than that, he was bone weary and emotionally drained. Not that he’d ever admit that to anyone, since in his book that counted as a chick flick moment. But the truth of the matter was that he didn’t know for how much longer he could go on. At thirty three, he was certainly not the oldest hunter around, but he’d probably been through more than any three others, what with dying and coming back so often, not to mention that _forty years_ he’d spent in Hell. Granted, it had only been about four months topside, but still. Dean remembered every knife cut, every poke and prod he’d received, and worse, those he’d dealt. It was all he could do some days to drag himself out of bed. And even post-averted-apocalypse, the world didn’t show any signs of slowing down on the supernatural side of things. There were just as many monsters today, and maybe more, than when he’d started.

His only problem now was the fact that he _knew_ he could not live the apple pie life he so craved. It was beyond him after so many years of being on the road and looking over his shoulder. The only things he knew in life were highways, cheap motels and bad diner food when he was lucky. Heaving another sigh, he thought about his brother. Sam was as big a problem. Now that Dean had pulled him back into the life from Stanford all those years ago, Sam had changed. His little brother now had no intentions of going back to normalcy, no matter what he might say to the contrary. Like Dean, he knew too much about all the wrong things.

But there was one bright spot in Dean’s rootless existence. Cas, _Castiel_ , angel of the Lord, his best friend ever, was back and whole again. The hunter didn’t know what he would do without the (still) socially awkward, gruff, and not-quite-so-innocent-anymore celestial being in his life. The months he’d spent without the angel had pained him in a way he didn’t fully understand. The whole time he’d been living at Lisa’s was like living in limbo. Until the day Cas had showed up to ask his advice, that was.

It had been prompted by a visit that Crowley had paid to the angel, who didn’t know what to think. He’d admitted to watching Dean go about his mundane, ordinary tasks and almost hating himself for interrupting. But in the end, Cas had acknowledged that he had no basis for reviewing the information at hand. He didn’t have a soul to sell, so he wasn’t worried about that end of things, but he’d wanted the advice of someone who’d actually made a demon deal, just for the perspective. Dean had, of course, set him straight with a few choice words for even considering such a thing, war with Raphael or not.

Dean had persuaded him, as a newly minted archangel, to sneak a peek into a possible future where he’d actually complied with Crowley’s request. It hadn’t been pretty, and Castiel was grateful he’d decided to come to Dean with his problem in the first place. No one wanted any part of that crazy maybe-future, which included Leviathans, a crazy Castiel, and a dead Bobby. It had also included a dead Raphael, but the manner in which it was done was repulsive. So Cas had literally told Crowley to go back to Hell or face an archangel-sized smiting from which there’d be no return, need for him running Hell or not. Dean was glad he’d gotten to witness that conversation because the expression on the usually smug demon bastard’s face had been priceless. He’d spat something about regretting refusing his generous offer and then disappeared. The Winchesters hadn’t seen him since.

But they had seen a lot more of Castiel, in between battles and skirmishes with Raphael’s forces. Finally, there had been a single, decisive battle. Castiel’s forces had taken the central garden of Heaven right from under Raphael’s nose, and despite being older and nominally stronger, Raphael had surrendered. He’d agreed to all of Castiel’s terms, including a ban on restarting the apocalypse, in order to preserve the few angels left. He’d even helped Castiel get Sam out of the Cage.

Suddenly, as though merely thinking about him had alerted Cas, Dean’s cell phone rang with the angel’s ringtone.

“Hello,” he said.

“Where are you?” the angel asked without preamble, and Dean had to smile. Yup, socially awkward was definitely Cas’ style, just like the ubiquitous trench coat. Dean wondered for a moment if it was Cas’ security blanket, something larger to wrap himself in now that his faith was somewhat shaken. But he quickly shook the strange thought off in favor of answering said socially awkward query.

“I’m in a crappy motel, like always,” Dean said, just to tease. In the silence on the other end of the line, Dean could almost hear the frown and drawn together brows. And he could just picture the almost trademark head tilt that would accompany the expression.

“That is not helpful, Dean,” Cas finally replied.

“Oh, you want an address?” Dean further teased. This time the angel caught on and Dean heard him sigh, which had probably been accompanied by an eye roll. Dean laughed and rattled off the street address, flipping his phone closed the instant he was done. And just like that, his celestial best friend was in his motel room.

“Hello Dean,” Cas said for his usual greeting.

Dean grinned and couldn’t figure out why those two words made him so happy. But he didn’t dwell on it.

“Hey Cas,” he responded casually. “What’s up?”

Castiel hesitated, unsure of what to say to the human in front of him. “I’m unsure,” he finally replied, narrowing his eyes in a thoughtful expression.

Dean arched an eyebrow. “Unsure, as in, something strange is afoot, Watson? Or just don’t know what you’re supposed to be doing?”

Dean figured the culture reference would go over the angel’s head and he started to smirk at the upcoming expression on Castiel’s face. But then, Cas totally surprised him.

“There is no game afoot, Holmes,” he replied stoically. “I am simply at… a loose end, I suppose. Things are running smoothly in Heaven, now that the war is over, and the apocalypse was averted, so I have nothing specific to be doing right this moment.”

“So you decided to drop in and hang out?” Dean asked. There, there was the expression he’d been waiting for. Polite puzzlement, with just a hint of exasperation showed on his handsome face. And whoa, did Dean really just think that?

“Drop in and hang out?” the angel repeated, almost to himself.

“It means, you came by unexpectedly, just to spend time relaxing with me,” Dean explained with a short laugh.

“Oh,” Cas finally answered, after thinking a moment. “In that case, yes, that is exactly what I’m doing.”

“Awesome,” Dean drawled, tossing himself on the worn out and very saggy, but surprisingly comfy couch. “Pull up a cushion.” He gestured to the sofa he was currently sitting on while snagging the remote. He flicked the TV on and began to flip through the limited number of stations. Castiel eyed the couch doubtfully before finally sinking, stiff backed, down onto the edge of it. Dean glanced over at him and sighed.

“Dude, you said yourself, you came by to relax. Sit back and chill with me for a while. Let the boob tube rot your brain some. I’ll even let you pick the show if you take off your coats,” he bargained, unwilling to watch his friend sit so stiffly.

Castiel’s brow furrowed, trying to make light of Dean’s jargon. Finally, he gave up and acceded to his friend’s request. He “mojoed” his trench coat and suit jacket away, as Dean would have put it, and leaned back into the couch. The human chuckled.

“Have I done it wrong?” Castiel asked innocently.

“No, not at all,” Dean said with another small chuckle. “I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your coats on. You’re practically naked.”

“I don’t understand. You requested I take them off, in exchange for choosing the programming.”

“Still,” Dean replied, with a wave of his hand. And that was all there was to his argument before he began flipping channels again.

“Stop,” Castiel finally demanded, startling him. “I wish to see that program.”

Dean chuckled, but complied, and watched his friend as Castiel sat rapt. His blue eyes darted over the screen, trying to keep up with the action. Every so often, the angel’s brow would wrinkle in confusion and his head would tilt ever so slightly to one side. Dean loved that expression. It was just so…Cas.

And there he went again, thinking weird stuff. It was Dean’s turn to knit his eyebrows together in thought, an action that did not go unnoticed by his celestial companion. Castiel turned away from the on-screen action to study his human… Charge? Was Dean still his charge, now that the apocalypse was averted and he was in no more danger from Heaven or Hell? It didn’t seem like he needed to be, but Castiel felt very protective of him, perhaps more so now than ever before. Of course, if Dean knew what he really was to Castiel, he doubted the man would let him sit here and watch television with him.

Dean noticed his gaze and quickly averted his eyes with a snort. “What?” he snapped with no real heat.

Castiel regarded him for a moment, narrowing his eyes in confusion, wanting to say something. But he knew from long experience that Dean wouldn’t speak again, or appreciate his commentary. So he turned back to the flickering box in front of him, watching actors pretend to sword fight, and mentally critiquing their form. All in all, he thought they were very poor swordsmen, but he supposed that it was okay because it was only for entertainment purposes. He let himself drift off into thoughts of how strange humans really were, making silly movies about events that never happened, and completely missed the end of the film. He was only pulled from his reverie when the end credits began to roll and the main theme began to play.

Dean noticed the angel perk up out of the corner of his eye. “What?” he asked again, in a much different tone.

“Jimmy knew quite a lot about this singer,” Castiel replied in a very distracted tone, accessing the leftover memories still lodged in his vessel’s brain. Jimmy’s soul may have departed, but he’d left a wealth of information behind, much of it confusing. But this – this was something Jimmy really enjoyed and had spent a lot of time thinking about.

Dean laughed. “Jimmy was a Bryan Adams fan?” he chuckled. “Why am I not surprised?”

“I don’t understand your tone, Dean,” Cas replied, slightly offended. “Is there some reason _not_ to like Bryan Adams? Jimmy was very fond of him and had most of his songs memorized. And now that I have accessed those particular memories, I cannot say I disagree with him on the matter. His voice is pleasing, the music melodic, and the lyrics meaningful.”

Dean held up his hands in a placating manner. “Whoa, okay, jeez, sorry Cas. You don’t have to bite my head off. I was just teasing. He’s just not really in my musical repertoire, okay?”

Cas was mollified by the apology and turned back to his introspection. “Oh,” he finally said, slumping back into the couch. “That explains things.”

Now Dean was just plain intrigued. What could boring, vanilla Jimmy, who’d sold A.M. radio ad time have been hiding? “Well,” Dean said, “don’t keep me in suspense, Cas. What did you find that explains Jimmy’s love of soft rock?”

In answer, Cas began to sing softly. “ _I got my first real six string, bought it at the five and dime. Played it ‘til my fingers bled. It was the summer of ’69. Me and some guys from school, had a band and we tried real hard. Jimmy quit, Jody got married. I should have known, we’d never get far. Oh, and I look back now, that summer seemed to last forever. And if I had the choice, yeah, I’d always want to be there, those were the best days of my life_.”

Dean swallowed thickly, totally unprepared to hear Cas singing. He didn’t know why it surprised him. After all, everybody who thought they knew anything about angels always mentioned Heavenly choirs. But angels had turned out so much different from the lore that Dean had dismissed the idea.

“I trust that answers your question, Dean,” Cas rumbled in his normal gravelly tone, pulling Dean from his thoughts.

“Um, you’ll have to spell it out for me, Cas,” Dean admitted.

The angel sighed and sat up from his relaxed position on the couch to rest his elbows on his knees. “Jimmy was the same one from the song. He quit the band and life moved on without him. His friend became famous, and Jimmy went on to sell ad time. He regretted it, but still wished his friend all the best, so he became an avid fan. And then I…” Cas paused. “I wonder, if Jimmy had been famous like his friend if he would still have said yes to me? He might still be alive and with Amelia and Claire.”

The angel sounded so forlorn that Dean winced. He had no idea that Castiel felt guilty about using Jimmy’s body. Certainly none of the other angels gave vessels any thought, if Michael and Lucifer’s examples were to be used as evidence. But Cas wasn’t like other angels, a fact Dean knew so very well. Cas was everything all the other angels were not, conflicted, compassionate, and ready to throw it all away for a cause he believed in more than Heaven itself. A cause like Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, who’d thwarted Fate and Destiny and torn up the Big Script.

Unbidden, the words Castiel had said to him when he’d first begun his search for God, and then shouted at him while beating him up in the alley thundered through his head. _I gave everything for you_. In the context of this new information, he wondered if maybe Cas had been trying to tell him something, even if it was only subconsciously, because apparently, he hadn’t known about Jimmy’s music tastes before today either. Abruptly, Dean was very angry with his friend.

“Hey Cas, man, don’t talk like that,” Dean finally growled. “You don’t know that he’d have even had Claire and Amelia if he’d never left the band. He might have been miserable. Or he might have said yes anyway. And what about me, huh? Who would have rescued my ass from Hell and then helped me stop the Apocalypse if Jimmy had told you no?” Castiel opened his mouth to respond, but Dean was on a roll. “And don’t give me any crap about any other angel being able to do your job, Cas. You know damn well that none of your dick brothers would have lifted a finger to help me, and that is a proven fact. Besides, both you and Jimmy told me he asked to be your vessel. He gave his consent, despite the fact it would lose him his wife. Don’t you think he thought about all of this? Okay, maybe it wasn’t quite what he signed up for, what with me shooting and stabbing you on first sight, but it’s not like he didn’t know you were a soldier, right? And from what he told me, Amelia was ready to leave him anyway, just because she didn’t understand what was going on with him. How do you know they’d have stayed together anyway? Maybe the fight they had about Jimmy hearing you was just the tip of the iceberg. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Amelia seemed like a nice enough woman for the few minutes I knew her, but c’mon… Point is, Cas, angel or not, you don’t know any of that, and hind sight is always twenty twenty.” Dean trailed off, a bit red in the face. He had no idea where all of that had come from. All he knew was that there was a tight lump in his chest right where his heart was supposed to go, and his mouth was really dry. He didn’t like even thinking about possible universes where Jimmy had told Cas to go jump in a lake.

To say Castiel was stunned would be an understatement. That was possibly the longest speech he’d ever heard the human give, not to mention the most passionate. He observed the flush that slowly traveled up his friend’s face and wondered what Dean was thinking. He was tempted to just look, but he’d promised both Winchesters long ago that he’d stop invading their privacy that way. So he sat back against the couch again, and inhaled deeply, carefully not looking at Dean when he spoke.

“I’m sorry I upset you, Dean,” he apologized softly. “I assure you it was unintentional, and if I had thought my statement through a little more, I wouldn’t have said anything at all on the subject. It is obviously a sore spot for you.”

“No, I’m sorry Cas, for going off on you like that,” Dean replied. “I just didn’t expect to have to be Clarence for you.”

“Dean, I don’t understand that reference,” Castiel responded in a very confused tone, doing the head tilt again, and making the knot in Dean’s chest both loosen and tighten simultaneously. It was an extraordinarily odd feeling, but Dean ignored it for now, in favor of smiling at his friend.

“We have got to rent you the classics, Cas,” he muttered. “Okay, basic story, Clarence was an angel who showed a guy a universe where he’d never been born so he could see all the good he’d done in everyone’s lives.”

If anything Castiel was even more confused. “Dean, there are no angels in the host with the name Clarence.”

“Never mind Cas, it’s a movie. Point is, well, umm…” Dean stuttered to a stop, feeling a huge “chick flick moment” coming on. “The point, is that you matter, Cas. Just like you told me when you sent me back in time the first time. Your actions have far reaching consequences. If I’d been able to change the past, a lot of people I’d previously saved would be dead. Same concept.”

Castiel nodded slowly. “I understand now, Dean. Thank you.”

Dean blushed again. “Any time.” And funny thing, he meant it. “I just wanted you to know that I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and I just now realized that I never thanked you for any of it. So, thank you for being there, Cas. I know exactly where I’d be without you.” Dean’s face now resembled a tomato, his blush was so deep, but he soldiered on. “And I know I don’t deserve any of it, which just makes you that much more awesome.”

The angel regarded the human in front of him seriously after his admission. “Dean, I would have done none of what I did were you not worthy of it,” he stated firmly. “Please tell me you think enough of _me_ to know that I would not fight for an unworthy cause. Because that is what your previous statement seems to imply.”

Dean’s head flew up, looking into the angel’s eyes for the first time since the conversation started. “Of… of c-course Cas,” he stuttered. “I didn’t mean it that way. You have to know I didn’t.”

Castiel’s face softened into an almost smile, and Dean’s heart jumped and skipped a beat. “I know you didn’t Dean. I simply do not like when you devalue yourself like that. You are the Righteous Man, and more than that, you are my friend, and I care about you. You matter too.”

That was the last straw for Dean. Nobody had ever told him that before: that he mattered all on his own and not just because of any skills he possessed, or what he could do for someone. He mattered to Cas just because he was his friend. Much to his embarrassment, tears pricked his eyes and his oddly beating heart leaped into his throat and tried to choke him at the same time he leaned forward and pressed his lips against the angel’s. It was a chaste kiss, but promised to be more when Cas brought his hands to Dean’s face, running his thumbs under Dean’s eyelids to catch the tiny drops that had pooled there.

Dean broke the kiss and turned his face away to hide the rest of the watery evidence on his cheeks but Castiel was having none of it. He caught Dean’s chin in his firm grip and gently pulled the hunter’s eyes to meet his again.

“You matter to me, Dean,” he repeated slowly, and Dean’s traitorous eyes poured more salt water, which Castiel obligingly wiped away again.

Dean was now too choked up to even speak and Castiel went with what his vessel’s instincts told him he should do. He gathered Dean into a loose embrace and guided his head to his shoulder. The strong man continued to cry silently for a few moments, his shoulders shaking almost imperceptibly when Castiel dropped a verbal emotional bomb on him.

“I love you, Dean, just because you are you.”

And with that, the tears slipping silently down the human’s cheeks became full blown sobs, racking his body mercilessly. And Cas just held him, tightly now, against all the pain his life had dealt him. Dean cried that way for nearly twenty minutes, and Castiel dug into Jimmy’s memories again, finding one of comforting Claire as she cried just this way, though he’d never tell Dean that. He mimicked Jimmy’s movements and rocked slightly back and forth with the hunter in his arms, shushing him gently.

Slowly, Dean’s sobbing diminished, his breathing interrupted occasionally by hiccups, but he seemed calmer. At some point, he’d fisted Castiel’s shirt in his grip and was now clinging tenaciously. The angel looked down at his red face and noted the peace there. Dean had cried himself to sleep in his angel’s arms. Castiel smiled softly and pressed a soft kiss to the hunter’s temple before transporting them both to the bed. Dean curled up against Castiel’s chest with his face buried in the celestial being’s shoulder and his hand still clenched on the white dress shirt. Cas smiled again and draped his arm over Dean’s waist, holding him close and resting his nose on the top of his head.

Dean woke several hours later to a few odd sensations. First of all, he had a massive headache. Second, he was blissfully warm, and third, he and another person were wrapped around each other like octopi. It took him a moment to register that the warm person he was wrapped around was decidedly male. In another instant, he was fully awake and shoving at the chest he’d been previously lying against. Neither it, nor the arms he now felt wrapped around his back gave an inch. Dean started to panic before a familiar voice spoke to him.

“Dean, it is only me. Calm yourself. You are safe here with me,” Castiel soothed. “Shhh, rest now.”

Dean felt one of the hands on his back move and begin carding through his hair at the base of his neck. He groaned and his heart rate accelerated when the other began rubbing his entire back. He felt the angel kiss the top of his head, and almost stopped breathing.

“Cas?” he rasped.

“Hmmm…” he hummed, nuzzling his nose into Dean’s hair again and inhaling deeply. “Yes, Dean?”

“What are you doing?” the human whispered.

“Showing you I meant what I said,” Cas replied steadily, his chest rumbling against Dean’s body.

Dean had no answer for that, so he took the angel’s suggestion and relaxed his muscles again. Cas hummed in satisfaction at getting his way. To Dean, who was practically crushed against his chest, it felt like a purr. The hunter made no effort to keep from drifting off again and promptly fell back asleep. When he woke, he was alone in the motel room, but there was a lingering… something. Dean didn’t know what to call it: a scent, or freshness, or presence, or what. But it was nice and not once did Dean feel abandoned by his friend.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

In the weeks that followed, nothing was said about what had happened between Dean and Castiel. The Winchesters did what they always did, and hunted any evil thing they could find. Castiel popped in and out at random, making Dean smile with just his presence. Sam noticed, but didn’t say anything. Privately, he wondered if Dean and Castiel were finally going to take their relationship to another level, but out of fear of ruining whatever they had going on, he pretended ignorance.

Meanwhile, even though no one spoke about it, Dean couldn’t get that night off his mind. He’d full on kissed an angel of the Lord, and it had been amazing. He found himself humming the few Bryan Adams lyrics he knew over and over when he was alone, and they never failed to make him smile. About a month after “that night” as Dean called it in his head, the brothers were browsing in a second hand shop because Sam had insisted that he needed…something, and wasn’t willing to pay full price for it. Dean had rolled his eyes at his brother, but gone along and was now looking idly through the store’s collection of cassette tapes.

There wasn’t much there to interest the older hunter, but suddenly, his fingers found a gem. Grinning, he pulled the tape from the pile and flipped it over to read the track list. His smile nearly broke his face when he read the song title he wanted. He didn’t know any of the other songs, but that was okay. He figured it was about time he expanded his music collection. Tape in hand and smile still firmly in place, he took his purchase to the cash register.

The teenage girl working the counter raised her eyebrow when he presented the cassette to her with a flourish, and his sappy grin still plastered across his face.

“That’ll be seventy five cents,” she told him flatly, and Dean gladly handed over a dollar bill before hurrying away to the Impala without his change. He didn’t even notice that Sam had walked up behind him. “Weird,” the girl muttered to herself.

Putting his purchase on the counter (jeans and few t-shirts) Sam stared after his brother. “What did he buy?” he asked the girl.

She shrugged. “I dunno, some crappy old cassette tape of a singer I never heard of. But from the way he was acting, you’d have thought it was gold, or something.”

Sam nodded knowingly. “Probably found a replacement for his Metallica tape. His is getting a bit worn,” he responded.

“No,” the girl denied. “It was Bryan something or other.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “Bryan Adams, maybe?” he guessed.

“Yeah, that was it,” the girl nodded. “He must be a big fan.” She finished ringing his clothes and the conversation ended.

As Sam walked to the car, he was puzzled and more than a little amused. Dean was sitting in the Impala with a very intense expression on his face, listening to “Summer of ’69.” He circled around to the passenger side and stuck his head in the window. “Bryan Adams, Dean?” he asked lightly, startling the other man.

Dean’s face turned beet red and he muttered, “Shut up, bitch.”

Sam chuckled and opened the door to slide in. He barely had time to close the door before Dean threw the car into gear and roared out of the parking lot. Sam was still smirking at him from the passenger seat. “Care to tell me what prompted this change of heart in music, Dean?” he teased.

“What did I tell you, Sam?” Dean responded with a growl, his face going red again. “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m not objecting to a change of pace,” Sam told him with a toothy smile. “I just never thought I’d ever see you willingly listen to poppy soft rock.”

If possible, Dean’s face became even redder than before. “Cas likes him, okay,” he muttered. “I just thought I might surprise him the next time he decides to ride with us.”

 _Oh_ , Sam thought. Dean totally had it bad for the angel. His first reaction, to say, “Awwww,” was immediately discarded for multiple reasons. One, he knew Dean would probably kill him and the cassette tape in a very violent manner. But more importantly, he knew Dean would instantly clam up any and all emotions for the foreseeable future. And that would be tragic, especially since Sam could see how happy he’d been the last month or so. So he swallowed the ingrained little brother instinct to tease and said, “That’s really cool of you, Dean,” as sincerely as he could manage. But he promised himself that just as soon as he thought Dean could handle it, he’d tease the shit out of him for being such a sappy romantic softie.

Dean spent the following week faithfully learning all the lyrics to the album he’d bought. He even (grudgingly) admitted he liked them all and not just because Cas did too. His favorite was a song called _Do I Have to Say the Words?_ , though weirdly, almost every song on the album seemed to describe him and Castiel in some way. But he hadn’t seen the angel for more than a week. He was starting to get antsy and Sam noticed.

They were stalled on a simple salt and burn, waiting for cover of darkness to exhume the grave of the troublesome spirit when it happened. As Dean paced around their motel room for what had to be the hundredth time, Sam finally blurted out, “Why don’t you just pray for him, Dean?” a little impatiently.

Dean froze in his tracks with a deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face, which quickly turned to flat (feigned) confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sammy,” he denied vehemently. “Who am I supposed to pray for?”

Sam rolled his eyes and gave him his most serious younger brother face. “Don’t even, Dean,” he snorted, finally fed up with Dean’s pining and moping. Hoping he wasn’t going to mess things up too badly, he soldiered on. “I know you miss Castiel. So either pray for him, or call his cell before you wear a hole in the floor.”

Dean glared at him, but stayed uncharacteristically quiet before throwing himself on his bed face first. Sam rolled his eyes again, but closed out the browser window on his laptop and shut it down. “I’m going to go out for a while,” he announced to the room, grabbed his jacket and the Impala keys, and left, slamming the door in his wake.

Lying on his bed, Dean felt stupid and mildly humiliated. He hadn’t thought he was doing anything differently, or at least nothing noticeable around Sam. He wondered how long his little brother had suspected something. Thinking back, it must have been really obvious when he bought that stupid cassette tape. He felt his face flush and rolled over to stare at the water stained ceiling. After a while, he decided that Sam was right. He needed to call Cas and clear all this up.

He didn’t even bother to move, just closed his eyes and directed his thoughts at his celestial more than best friend, and began to speak.

“Hey, Cas, I need to talk to you, if you’re not busy,” he muttered, far softer than his usual irreverent prayers to the awkward angel. He rattled off the address of the motel and resigned himself to wait. It wasn’t more than a minute later that he heard the telltale whoosh of invisible angel wings in the room.

Castiel heard his charge calling to him. Unlike his usually brash demands, this one was soft, almost hesitant. Despite his somewhat naïve-seeming demeanor most of the time, the angel was far from stupid. After all, he had millennia of experience to draw on. His only problem was context. So Castiel knew that after declaring his feelings for Dean several weeks ago, it was best not to mention it again. This was especially true in this case because, as Sam might put it, Dean was allergic to feelings, and pushing the matter would only cause him to draw away. Dean had to work through things in his own time, and if there was one virtue angels had in spades, it was patience. So Castiel could afford to wait for the human to make up his mind, and it now seemed that his patience had paid off. He flew to where Dean was, a dingy motel as usual, and found him sprawled on his bed with an arm obscuring his face.

“Hello Dean,” he greeted as usual.

Dean didn’t move his arm or any of the rest of his body. “Hi Cas,” he responded, and was silent.

Castiel waited for a moment, wondering if the man would say more. But he seemed content to just lie on the bed and ignore the angel’s presence. He expanded his senses just beyond the human range and heard Dean’s heart beating a little too quickly for just relaxing in bed. Cas smiled and knew he’d have to move first then. He removed the outermost layers of his attire as he’d done that night, but in the human way this time. Dean must have caught the rustle of fabric as he tossed both coats and his white dress shirt and tie into a nearby chair, and his heart picked up another couple of beats. The angel smiled again and smoothly moved onto the bed beside Dean, resting his head on the pillows and folding his hands on his stomach. Dean’s heart was racing now, in a way it seldom did unless he was hunting monsters.

“Was there something you needed, Dean?” Castiel asked softly, staring at the ceiling.

Dean flinched at the quiet voice beside him, aware of his body’s reaction to the angel’s proximity. He didn’t know if he could do this. He felt hot and cold, nauseous and amazing all at once. He couldn’t think of anything to say to the being next to him. He was so bad with words. But he could sing. And he knew the perfect song. Tentatively, he ran the opening chords through his mind and began.

 _Rescue me, from the mire_  
Whisper words of desire  
Rescue me, darling rescue me  
With your arms open wide  
Want you here by my side  
Come to me, darling rescue me  
When this world’s closing in  
There’s no need to pretend  
Set me free, darling rescue me, oh

Castiel gasped slightly as the man beside him started to sing. Dean had a lovely singing voice when he chose to use it, and his tones matched the song perfectly. He listened quietly as Dean told him exactly how he felt. Reflecting on it a little, Castiel realized that the sentiment was perfect. Dean might never be able to come right out and say that he loved Castiel, but the angel already knew. Dean didn’t have to say anything. When he’d finished (still without moving his arm) Castiel reached down and tangled his fingers with Dean’s.

“That was beautiful, Dean,” Castiel said boldly.

Dean huffed a laugh and finally uncovered his face. “Dude, the chick-flicky-ness of this moment was bad enough. You didn’t have to add to it.”

Cas did his best not to smile but the corners of his lips quirked up anyway. “Of course Dean,” he intoned. “I will endeavor not to add to ‘chick flick moments’ in the future.”

Now Dean laughed outright, as Castiel had known he would. “Jesus, Cas,” he gasped, “you’re really something else. You know that?”

“You have made me aware,” Castiel replied. “Nevertheless, my comment stands. Where did you learn the song?”

Dean sighed. “Found a cassette tape at a second hand store,” he confessed. “Sam made fun of me for buying it, but I figured you might like it if you ever ride with us. And then the whole album seemed to be about us, or mostly, anyway.” Dean blushed and turned his face away again.

“If it is the album I’m thinking of, I agree with you,” Castiel said, after searching his memories.

They lay in silence for another few minutes after this until Dean finally found his tongue.

“Look, Cas,” he began hesitantly, “I’m truly no good at this kind of thing, whatever this is. I know I’m a total screw up and all I can really do is ask your forgiveness right now for all the stupid shit I’m going to do. But you have to know that I won’t really mean any of it and I…”

“Hush Dean,” Castiel interrupted. Dean snapped his jaw shut. “I know perfectly well what kind of man you really are.”

Dean nodded. “Exactly,” he began again, but Castiel continued as if he hadn’t said anything.

“You are kind and loyal, brave to a fault, and not afraid to stand up for anything you believe in. You are Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man. And that is not just a title. For all of the ills in your past, you truly are righteous Dean. Perhaps not in the most traditional sense, but you know what is the right thing to do and you do it.”

Dean abruptly sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed and for an instant, Castiel was afraid he’d said the wrong thing to the human. But Dean just sat there with his head in his hands, staring at the dirty motel carpet under his feet. So Castiel got up and walked around the bed to sit next to him. When their thighs touched, Dean didn’t react, so Castiel put an arm around him. He didn’t squeeze or pull. He just placed his arm on Dean’s shoulders, but Dean leaned into him, and the angel couldn’t have been happier. After a few moments, Dean looked up and focused on the opposite wall instead of the carpet.

“You should know that I’ve never been good at relationships in general and I’ve never been with a man at all. The closest I’ve come was in Hell, and as you can imagine, that’s not really conducive to positive thought about anything…”

Dean was rambling again, so Castiel took charge of the conversation once more. “Dean,” he interrupted, “I know what was done to you in Hell. You don’t have to relive any of that. But you should remember that I have never been in any kind of relationship. So I cannot judge you. We will simply have to learn about what works for us together. I have no expectations of you, other than simply letting me help you with anything you may need, be it hunt related or not.” Castiel carefully avoided mentioning any emotions, uncertain if Dean would be willing to discuss them at this moment.

Dean sighed quietly, and put his head on Castiel’s shoulder, but looked at the floor. “See what I mean,” he said. “Here I am going on about never being with a dude, and you’ve never been with anyone before. I’m completely inconsiderate most of the time, even when I don’t mean to be.” He sounded so upset at his perceived fault that Castiel could restrain himself no longer.

The angel squeezed the human closer to his side and put his other arm around him as well, before burying his nose in Dean’s hair. Dean shuddered lightly, but made no move to get away from the increased pressure. In fact, he seemed to melt bonelessly into the angel’s side, tucking his face into Castiel’s neck. They sat that way for some time before Cas spoke again.

“It was not my intention to make you feel inconsiderate, Dean,” he finally said. “I merely wished for you to know that I too, am unsure about how to proceed, and that you should not feel badly about it. In any case, I believe that we should take things very slowly, if we can. I have no desire to force you into anything you may not be ready for, and I’m sure you feel the same.”

Dean finally sat up and Castiel released him. He shifted on the bed until he was facing the angel and waited for Cas to copy the position. Once they were both looking directly at each other, which felt more natural, Dean put his hand on Castiel’s knee. “I know that,” Dean replied. “And I do feel the same. But you’ll have to remember that I’m human and I have limited patience. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for going slow, but at the same time, well…” Dean trailed off, his face reddening once more.

Picking up on the implication, Castiel blushed too. “I understand Dean,” he said shortly.

“Good, good,” Dean said quickly. “Then there’s only one thing left for me to say right now. Here it goes.” He took a deep breath, as though mentally preparing himself. “I love you, Castiel. I have for a long time. And I’m not the best at saying it, so if I don’t again for a while, just know that I always feel it.”

Castiel smiled a genuinely delighted smile and reached to embrace the man before him. Dean accepted the hug and returned it with interest. “I love you too, Dean. Since the moment I pulled your soul from Perdition and you clung to me just as tightly as I gripped you. I didn’t understand at the time, but I know now what that feeling was. It seems we were destined to be together, and if I could find my father and only ask him one question, it would be that.”

Dean let go of him again, and looked confused. “What are you talking about? You think God preordained us? How does that fit into the Big Script?”

Castiel smiled mischievously. “The Lord works in mysterious ways, Dean Winchester,” he intoned solemnly.

Dean’s face crinkled with a huge smile and he laughed loudly. “Aw, Cas, come on,” he wheezed. “Now I’ve got to kick your ass.”


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

They spent the rest of the day relaxing in the motel room, watching bad television. They were only interrupted when Sam got back from his case research.

He took one look at them, sitting much too close together against the headboard of Dean’s bed and smirked. Dean tensed for a fight, or at least some hardcore teasing. Cas put a hand on his thigh in response to his tightened muscles. However, Sam said nothing to them and Dean could only frown in confusion when Sam whipped out his cell phone. He punched a speed dial button and waited only a moment.

“Hey, Bobby,” Sam greeted the older hunter when the call connected. “You owe me fifty bucks.”

Dean’s eyes widened in shock when he heard a gruff rumble, which probably meant Bobby was cussing on the other end of the line. Sam smiled again and hung up. Dean was outraged.

“You and Bobby put a bet on my love life?!” he snarled.

Sam smiled beatifically. “Yup.” He smacked his lips on the last letter, letting it pop.

“I can’t believe you, Sammy!” Dean further ground out. “What is the matter with you two?”

“Oh, can it Dean,” Sam replied loftily. “It would have been worse not to bet on such a sure thing. The wager wasn’t even _if_ ; it was _when_. Bobby didn’t think you’d have the stones for a few more weeks.”

Now, Dean could only splutter, unable to form a proper response. He wasn’t even sure which part of that to be most offended by. Yes, he’d figured he was more obvious than he originally thought, but…

Cas finally chimed in. “We would appreciate not being the focus of any betting pools in the future,” he solemnly intoned, like he fully expected that to be the end of it.

“I’m sure you would,” Sam shot back, giving in to his long denied little brother instincts. After all, Cas was practically his brother in law now, and Sam had decided the angel was fair game too.

Cas looked taken aback at Sam’s irreverent tone for a moment. Of the two, it was usually the younger brother who afforded him any of the respect due his status as an angel of the Lord. When he got over his momentary shock, he scowled thunderously. As he opened his mouth to deliver what would have been an acidic reply, Dean copied his gesture from earlier and put a hand on his thigh, quelling him instantly. The angel glanced at the hunter, who shook his head.

“Don’t bother, Cas,” Dean grumbled. “You’ll just give him more ammunition, and I’m sure he’s got plenty already. Just let me handle this.”

Sam smirked at them again, teasingly. “You really have no idea,” he replied almost gleefully. “This might just be the best thing ever.”

“You’re gonna go on like this for weeks, aren’t you?” Dean asked mournfully, already knowing the answer.

“Oh, Dean,” Sam practically cooed, clasping his hands together, “are you under the impression that this is going to stop? That is so cute.” Dean began to look worried, verging on horrified. “I’m so sorry if I gave you that impression,” Sam continued in that same sugary, mocking tone. “But this is forever, big brother. This is for every bit of overly macho posturing I’ve ever had to watch, every time I’ve walked in on you doing things that required gallons upon gallons of brain bleach, every night spent in the car afterwards, and every implication in my whole life that I’m somehow the gay one.”

Dean groaned in realization and horror and utter big brother embarrassment. Then Cas, his new-found partner in life, badass warrior of God, who was supposed to help and defend him from every foe, opened his big fat angel mouth.

“Actually Sam,” he began, after clearing his throat, “that is not accurate. As I have no true gender, Dean cannot be considered ‘gay’.” The angel looked supremely confident in this statement. But Dean winced, knowing what can of worms Cas had just opened. And to make matters worse, he’d used air quotes around the word gay, the dork.

Sam looked like the cat that got the cream. His whole face radiated just how completely he’d won this round. Dean recognized the expression immediately and felt his stomach plummet into his shoes. “Cas, you’re not helping,” he hissed. “I said to let me handle this.”

Sam went on like his brother had never spoken. “Thank you for bringing up my next point, Castiel,” Sam said, mock graciously. Now Cas looked a bit apprehensive.

“How many times, Dean? How many times have you rubbed my nose in the fact that I’ve had a relationship with something not human? How many innuendos, and jokes, and accusations about Madison and Ruby?” he continued, building steam. “A one night stand and a brain washed fling are truly no competition for being literally touched by an angel, in my humble opinion. Especially since you’ve got the brand to prove it.”

Dean’s hand automatically went to the mark on his shoulder, the undeniable proof of what Castiel would do for him, left there when the angel pulled Dean from the deepest pits of Hell. Sam was now past smirking and into smiling evilly territory. Dean briefly thought to check if his brother was truly possessed again, but discarded the notion almost immediately. Cas would have noticed and done something by now if that was the case.

“I had Bobby do some checking, by the way,” Sam said airily. “Did Cas tell you exactly where that came from?”

Castiel was shaking his head in denial, maybe pleading with Sam not to say anything further, but Sam ignored him. Dean narrowed his eyes.

“It’s where he grabbed me to pull me out of the Pit,” he snapped. “We all know that, Sam. It’s the first thing Cas ever said to me.”

“You didn’t have a body in Hell, Dean,” Sam replied, rolling his eyes. “And for that matter, neither did Cas. Would you like to know what Bobby found, Dean?” He paused, and then continued without his brother’s answer. “That mark is a physical manifestation of an angelic claim on your soul, so powerful that not even Cas rebuilding your body cell by cell could get rid of it. You told me yourself it was the only mark on you after your resurrection. And what’s more, an angel can’t mark a human like that arbitrarily. The recipient has to _want_ to be claimed. The last recorded case Bobby could find was before the flood, Dean. When, and I’m paraphrasing here, the Sons of God saw the Daughters of Man and went to them and begat the Nephilim. It’s your wedding band, Dean.”

Dean looked at Castiel helplessly, hoping he would either confirm or deny this. But the angel’s face was beet red and he refused to look up from his lap. So Dean looked back at Sam, who continued blithely.

“So yeah, Dean, what’s it like being spiritually married to a non human entity in a borrowed male body?” Sam asked with a grin.

Dean saw Castiel’s shoulders slump, and he was abruptly done with Sam’s bullshit. His brother could poke fun at Dean all he wanted, but that remark was taking things too far. Sure, maybe Sam didn’t know how Cas felt about using Jimmy’s body as his vessel, but Dean did. And that helping and defending thing went both ways. Dean could play this game too, and he played dirty.

He patted Cas’ thigh again reassuringly, while fixing on his trademarked leer slash smirk. He crowed internally when Sam noticed and swallowed nervously. The thing Sam had forgotten was that Dean actually had very little shame when it came to physical pleasures. And sure, the whole kind-of-gay-angelically-married thing was new and sure as Hell unconsummated, but Sam didn’t know that. He was going to shut Sam down hard.

“I’m so glad you asked me that, Sammy.” He mimicked his brother’s earlier syrupy tone and Sam paled, knowing he’d pushed Dean over the edge. “I’ve been dying to share with you. For your information, it’s the best thing ever. His hands and body are amazing. And he’s so much stronger than me that I can’t get away from him, no matter how much I struggle, even if I wanted to, which, by the way, I don’t.”

Now Cas was looking at him sideways, but Dean winked at him. He was a master of innuendo and nothing he’d said so far was either explicit or untrue. But it sounded filthy, and that was what Dean was aiming for.

Sam’s face went from pale to flaming red in about two seconds. “Okay, I get it!” he squeaked. “I’ll be done, I swear!”

“Aw, Sammy, are you sure?” Dean further teased. “I could give you details and positions, if you wanted.”

“NO! No, I’m good. Happy for you guys, even,” Sam babbled.

Dean dropped the smirk, his face totally serious. “Good. Thank you, Sam. I’m glad you see it my way. So here’s how things are going to go from now on. You are not going to say anything about me and Cas and in return, I’ll never mention Madison or Ruby ever again,” Dean conceded, knowing he had to throw Sam a bone.

“You will not make any more bets about us, and if I ever hear you imply that Cas’ body belongs to anyone other than him or me, ever again, you won’t like the consequences. Jimmy is gone. Capisce? The dude feels guilty enough as it is, so…”

Sam felt like a heel. He hadn’t considered Castiel’s reaction to his statement about borrowed bodies. “Okay, Dean,” he interrupted. He turned to his angelic almost brother in law. “Cas, I’m sorry I brought up Jimmy like that. I wasn’t thinking. It wasn’t fair or polite. It won’t happen again.”

Cas nodded once, sharply, in acceptance of Sam’s apology. Dean did the same, if less abruptly.

“Great,” Dean enthused, rubbing his hands together briskly. “Now that all of that stuff is taken care of, and everyone is friends again, there’s just one more thing for you to do, Sam.”

“Yeah?” Sam asked cautiously.

“Yeah. Go rent another room, bitch,” Dean commanded. “We can’t have you cramping our style on what is pretty much our honeymoon.”

Sam’s face contorted into the most epic bitch face Dean had ever seen. He almost spoiled it with laughter before Sam could answer him.

“Oh, GROSS! You’re such a jerk, Dean!” he burst out indignantly. Then he stomped out the door and slammed it behind him like he was twelve again and Dean was talking about girls.

Once he was gone, Dean finally doubled over laughing, but Cas looked puzzled.

“I don’t understand why Sam had to get another room tonight, Dean. I thought we agreed to take things slowly and I imagine you have many questions about our union. We wouldn’t be doing anything that Sam could not see,” he stated in a confused and vaguely chagrined tone.

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean allowed, wiping his eyes, “but this way he’ll torture himself with mental images all night and I don’t have to do a thing to further my revenge. Plus, you’re right about that conversation. And I wouldn’t want him here for that either. Besides, on the off chance that our conversation goes spectacularly well…” he trailed off and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“I am willing to proceed at any pace you require,” Cas said with a small smile, glad that Sam’s unexpected revelation had not damaged Dean’s feelings about him. The angel had always intended to tell Dean that they were bonded before God and Heaven, but he never knew where to start. In a way, having Sam blurt it out like that, though mortifying, was freeing as well.

“In that case, let’s start with the Q and A right now,” Dean requested. “Okay, so, you said earlier that I gripped you just as tight as you had me when you raised me. Care to elaborate? Because my rescue is the one thing from Hell that I don’t remember.”

Castiel took a moment to compose his thoughts and Dean waited patiently, but expectantly. The angel began slowly.

“It is as I said before, Dean. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that we are a destined pair. As I told you the night we visited the den of iniquity, I had never had occasion to…to…” Cas flushed red and Dean made a go on motion with his hand. “Yes, well, I’d never had occasion. Anyway, that was not only through lack of opportunity or interest. The fact of the matter is that angels are created in pairs. We have one angel that completes and complements the pattern of our grace. In human terms, a soul mate. Angels are not drawn to any but that one. Humans are created this way too, but it is much harder for you to find them, not being in touch with your souls as angels are their grace.

When I was ordered into Hell with the rest of my Garrison, I was the only un-bonded angel to go. It was just a fact of life for me. I’d looked, of course, but no other’s grace fit the jagged edges of my own. And I was proud that despite this, I was allowed to travel to the Pit. We are stronger with our mates, and I am very young by angel standards.

When I found you standing over your rack, your soul was still very bright, though beginning to tarnish. I’m not sure how you perceived me in that place, but I saw the pattern of your soul, overlaid with the form you’d created for yourself, much as you look now. It pulled at me, so familiar, but at the time I was blind to it, focused entirely on my mission. As I approached, you looked up. Your face was the very picture of anguish and guilt. As the demons around you and those on the racks screamed at my presence, you dropped your razor and reached out to me.

Time was growing short. I’d been separated from the rest of my squad and a single angel is no match for the legions of Hell. I didn’t even slow as I snatched you up, much as an eagle catches fish. I feared I would drop you, but then you surprised me. You caught hold of my wing, close to the shoulder and held tight. I flew as fast as I could back to a gate, with your soul pressed close.

It wasn’t until later, when I was piecing together your body, that I realized what had happened. Your skin was flawless, but as I put your soul back inside, the handprint appeared on your shoulder and nothing I could do would make it go away. I called to Uriel to get his opinion and before he even saw you, he saw the mark on my wing. He took one look at it and grimaced. Knowing what I know now, I understand why. But at the time, I thought he was reacting to a wound, because it felt like a burn. I wish you could see my true form; I would gladly show you the mark you left me. It very much resembles the one on your shoulder.

Uriel tried to heal me and you as well, but unsuccessfully. Tired as I was from my journey back from the Pit and the work I’d done healing your body, I hadn’t noticed the matching mark on your soul. Uriel pointed it out to me. At first, I didn’t know what to do. I knew what it was, of course, but I didn’t know how or why it had happened. As Sam said, it requires a human’s consent, and as far as I knew, neither you nor I had given it. I was still ignorant of my superiors’ true plans and loyal to Heaven. They questioned me about it extensively, but at the time my ignorance kept me safe. They instructed me to talk to you, thinking our bond would allow me to sway you to our side, but told me not to mention it to you, since you would not understand.

It is forbidden to mark humans in this way, ever since the Nephilim had to be destroyed. And in all of those cases, only the human was marked. The angels who bonded with those women were angels that had lost their mates in the first Great War in Heaven, when Lucifer was first cast down. No angel but myself has ever borne a human’s mark.”

Castiel stopped and looked at Dean, who seemed to be lost in thought. “Is that why you decided to help us? When they dragged you back to Bible Camp and we met Jimmy, that’s why, wasn’t it?” Dean asked shakily. “They knew that all the time you were spending around us, trying to recruit me for Heaven, was affecting you. When you got demoted, you told me your superiors were questioning your loyalty. That you were getting too close to me. You’d figured it out. We’re...mates?”

Cas nodded. “Yes, Dean. That is the proper term for us in a human tongue. It is more, means more, in Enochian. It encompasses all things two beings can be for each other: shield mate, friend, confidante, lover, all of these and thousands more.”

Dean grinned. “T’hy’la,” he said, unable to resist indulging his inner Trekkie.

“I am unfamiliar with that word, Dean,” Castiel said in surprise. “What language is that?”

“Golic,” Dean replied, enjoying himself. “Or Old Vulcan, if you prefer.” Cas still looked confused, so Dean took pity. “It’s made up, Cas. There’s this TV show called Star Trek, with two characters named Kirk and Spock, who have a pretty deep bond. The jury’s still out on whether or not Gene Rodenberry, the creator of the show, meant for them to be together, but there’s a footnote in one of his novels that describes them with that word. Spock thinks of Kirk that way. See, Spock’s a Vulcan and Vulcans don’t show emotion. So their deep friendship is kind of taboo in his culture. The word t’hy’la means a person who is a friend, brother, and lover.”

“Ah,” Cas said. “Still simplistic, but yes, I take your point.”

Dean smiled for a moment more, thinking of introducing the angel to his guilty pleasure TV show sometime. Come to think of it, there were several similarities between Dean and Castiel and Kirk and Spock. He wondered if he could persuade Cas to dress up as the Vulcan science officer and go with him to a convention if they ever had the time. Then his face fell. “Oh, shit,” he breathed. “Cas, if we’re mates then… Anna…”

“She knew,” Cas confirmed. “She was taunting me that night, trying to goad me into revealing myself to you.”

“That’s not what I meant, Cas.” Dean swallowed hard. “I meant, that if we’re mates, I’m sorry about all the one night stands. And the brothel. And, oh God, Lisa…” Dean felt sick and ashamed, and got off the bed, holding his stomach.

The angel was quick to follow, gently turning Dean to face him. “You have nothing to apologize for,” Cas stated firmly, still holding both his biceps. “You knew nothing of this until today and I will not hold you to standards you knew nothing about.”

“Still, I feel terrible about it. I’m not the kind of guy who ever cheated on anybody, even if I did sleep around. I learned my lesson early on. It was always serial monogamy. Now I find out, I’ve been cheating on you for years. No wonder Uriel was so smug when he visited me without you the night before that whole showdown over Anna. And he even told me that your weakness was that you liked me.” Dean shuddered.

“Looking back at it, everything the angelic dick squad did makes a lot more sense now. So much of it seemed random, even stuff you did, that I was constantly wondering what piece I was missing, why they cared what I did, beyond getting me to say yes to Michael. All the hints they dropped… I feel like an idiot. And how did it make you look, that your mate was such an unfeeling, obtuse jackass?”

Castiel shook him lightly. “Dean, stop this. None of this is your fault. They did that to us on purpose; tried to tear us apart. They told me not to tell you. And then they told me you were unfeeling on purpose when I was re-educated in Heaven, and tried to corrupt my feelings for you. They told me you knew and you didn’t care. That I was better off with them, than trying to save you. And to my shame, it worked for a little while. Until I saw the hurt on your face when I got back and told you I did not serve you. You looked so confused, that I was confused. And in the green room when you were so angry with me, I knew you had no idea, and that’s why I came back Dean. I meant to tell you afterwards, but when Raphael smote me at Chuck’s house, the chance seemed to be gone. I couldn’t figure out a way to bring it up, and the time never seemed to be right, what with Lucifer free and Michael circling. I’ll admit I was frequently frustrated, but usually with myself, not you. It was base cowardice that kept me from telling you in Maine when we laid the trap for Raphael. You gave me the perfect opportunity and I thought I was going to die anyway, so there was no reason not to. But I was afraid of your reaction. I couldn’t bear your scorn for even a moment. If I had taken any one of numerous opportunities, you would have no guilt at all. So stop blaming yourself, because I don’t.”

“Cas,” Dean whispered breathlessly, leaning in. He had no idea what he actually wanted to say, but the name seemed to be enough.

Castiel leaned in too, and met Dean’s mouth gently with his own. The human responded with fervor and for a few moments they were both overcome. They stripped each other’s t-shirts off and hastily threw them aside before the angel took charge and slowed it again. He released Dean’s lips and moved to his cheek, the side of his nose, and just under the hunter’s closed eye. Leaving off his trail, Castiel cupped the back of Dean’s skull and pressed their foreheads together. Thinking he was unseen by the mortal, he wrapped his wings around them as well.

Dean shivered under his angel’s gentle touches, and would have tried to reciprocate had he not felt something large and soft enfold him. His breath hitched minutely when he realized what it must be. Cas had his wings around them. Dean didn’t know how he knew that, or even how he was feeling the angelic appendages at all, but it was amazing. He opened his eyes, only to find blue ones trying to bore through him from mere inches away. He didn’t flinch from the scrutiny this time and stared resolutely back for several interminable moments. He only gave up the impromptu staring contest when he noticed two dark shapes rising behind Castiel’s back. Shifting his gaze, he followed their lines up and around as far as he was able. _He was seeing Castiel’s wings._

Castiel wrinkled his brow in mild confusion when Dean broke his eye contact, seemingly to let his gaze wander behind his shoulder to the wall. It was only when Dean’s eyes followed the curve of his right wing that he realized what was happening. Guiltily, he snatched his wings back behind himself, flushing red once more and dropping his gaze to his shiny dress shoes. Dean made a low sound of disappointment and _longing_ , prompting Castiel to look back up at him. The human was still fixated on his tightly furled wings, hope and wonder warring for place on his countenance. Slowly, Castiel spread one of his wings again, watching Dean in wonder as the man’s expression lit up. Clearly, the fact that Castiel’s wings were singed a dark ebony from the Pit held no revulsion for his mate. He gently enclosed Dean with his wing again and was rewarded with a blinding smile. The angel grinned impishly at his mate for a moment before jerking the wing (and consequently Dean) forward, while leaning in, making their mouths clash together again.

That broke Dean out of his semi-trance and he spluttered a laugh against Castiel’s chin. It was a sound that delighted Castiel to no end.

“Cas,” he murmured again, insinuating his body close to Castiel’s. “How?”

Castiel flexed his wing slightly, caressing Dean’s arm with the soft movement of his largest flight feathers. He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he whispered, gravelly voice tight with an unfamiliar emotion. “Perhaps my Father heard my earlier wish and granted us this.”

Dean unexpectedly stroked a hand down the inside of the angel’s wing. Castiel hissed at the sensation, just keeping from biting his lip. “Is that so?” Dean drawled, now ruffling the feathers in the opposite direction, and grinning when Castiel full-on moaned. “Well, in that case, maybe he’s not such a dick after all.”

Distracted as he was by Dean’s pleasurable touches to his wing, he didn’t notice the man’s other hand snaking around his side to grasp the base of his still furled wing. The electricity in the air was immediate. Dean had grasped the mark he’d left on Castiel. In response, the angel involuntarily clutched its match on Dean’s shoulder. A noiseless explosion rocked the air around the two beings, detectable for miles to any being able to sense such things.

Dean felt a momentary excruciating wrench on his back, which was over before he could cry out, and then an unaccustomed weight settled there. He closed his eyes and breathed out slowly, _knowing_ what had happened but not believing it yet. “If that’s what I think it is,” he ground out between clenched teeth, “your Dad has the worst sense of humor ever and I’m taking back my comment about him not being a dick. Because clearly he is.”

Castiel was too busy admiring his mate’s new additions to register any of Dean’s comment. Dean huffed when he noticed but didn’t say any more, since the angel was clearly doing a minute inventory of Dean’s feathers. Following the angel’s (other angel’s, _dammit_ ) gaze, Dean surveyed his new wings for himself. They pretty much matched his hair, with the odd dark feather scattered here and there, giving them a freckled appearance. They were also slightly smaller than Castiel’s with sharper angles. He didn’t see what was so fascinating to Cas. They looked pretty average to Dean, but what did he know? He tried to stretch one out experimentally, and was pleased to find that it was no more difficult than stretching an arm or a leg. Castiel was still riveted to his movements and the oddest expression was on his face. Dean had had enough of the scrutiny, which felt strangely intimate. He snapped them closed and as far behind his back as he was able. Castiel jumped and finally looked Dean in the eye again.

“What the Hell, Cas?” he hissed. “You gonna ogle my new goods forever or explain this to me?”

“My apologies Dean,” Castiel responded promptly, in order to stave off the violence he could feel brewing in his mate’s body. “I got somewhat lost, looking at them. I’ve never seen their like in Heaven. I just…” he trailed off again, slowly reaching for one of the beautiful feathers peeking out from behind Dean’s arms. He was abruptly blocked.

“No, no, no, Cas,” Dean denied, pushing against Castiel’s chest and backing away. He was determined to get an explanation before any touching went on, even though part of him wondered why. It was a small part, to be sure, but insistent with its belief that he should let Castiel do whatever he pleased to Dean’s feathers. Dean ruthlessly squashed it down and simultaneously ignored the mild look of hurt on Castiel’s face. He needed some answers. But Castiel still seemed to be in a daze.

“Hey. Cas,” he said, snapping his fingers in his mate’s face to break the spell. “Answers. Now.”

“Right,” Castiel said, visibly pulling himself together. “It would seem that not only has my Father seen fit to let you see my wings, he has fixed the imbalance between us.” His eyes darted to Dean’s wings again before he continued. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how very much the balance of power in our relationship was in my favor.” Dean snorted, but Castiel continued on. “It would not have been fair to either of us to be so unequally yoked. You would have aged normally as all mortals do and passed to Heaven. While I am no longer barred from my home, it would have pained me to watch you age and die. But neither would it have been fair, after all I accomplished to save my home from eternal civil war and corruption, to strip me of my angelic powers. Therefore, you are now an angel. The Grace I left behind, though infinitesimal, when I marked your soul has now fused with it and transformed it. I recognize the faint pattern of my Grace in yours, though most of it is the original pattern of your soul, simply transmuted.”

“Okay, great,” Dean griped sarcastically. “So what exactly am I? Do I have a celestial job now, like you’re the angel of Thursday, or what?”

Castiel squinted at him for a long moment, and Dean squirmed under the intense scrutiny, crossing his arms over his chest protectively. “I cannot find a calling for you,” he finally said. “You do not appear to have a celestial function. You also do not seem to fit any of the known angelic categories. You’re very nearly the same as me, as far as power goes, but you do not bear the marks of a Seraph. Nor are you a Virtue, Power, Cherub, or Archangel. You’re one of a kind Dean, an angel unto yourself.”

At that, Dean’s posture relaxed. He kept his arms crossed over his chest, but allowed his back to slouch and his hips to cant sideways. A smirk played over his lips and his wings edged further out from behind him, no longer held stiff and rigid.

“One of a kind, huh?” he teased, moving back toward Castiel. “At least that’s nothing new for me. I’ve never had an equal here on Earth, either,” he said salaciously, stopping just short of the other angel.

Castiel’s eyes dilated and his wings fanned out and arched behind him in display, in response to his mate’s provocative words and pose. Unconsciously, Dean mirrored his actions and Castiel swallowed hard. He wanted to touch those golden-brown feathers so badly that his fingers ached with it. Licking his lips, Castiel reached out slowly, afraid of another rejection. But Dean surprised him by taking that last step and sweeping his wings forward, so they met with Castiel’s hands.

Dean didn’t know what possessed him not to wait for Castiel to close the distance between them. Normally, he waited for his partner to make the moves and show the interest. It was a way to keep himself detached, cool and aloof. But with Castiel, all that posturing and all his barriers were crashing down around him. The next thing he knew, both of Castiel’s hands were in his wings and Castiel’s wings surrounded them both once again. Dean’s hands had found Castiel’s face and they were both kissing each other like it was their job.

When Dean finally registered and was able to separate and process the myriad sensations assaulting him, he groaned, breaking the lip lock to tuck his face into the crook of Castiel’s neck. Unfortunately for him, that left Dean’s ear and neck dangerously exposed to Castiel’s lips, teeth, and tongue. And he pressed his advantage mercilessly, gently nipping around the shell of Dean’s ear, before placing the barest of kisses down his throat and then going back to nose at Dean’s temple. Finally, he kissed Dean’s cheek while also gripping the shoulder joints of his wings, where they met his back, tightly.

Dean moaned and tried to buck his hips, but found that his knees no longer supported him. There was a rushing sensation and then both men were on the bed. Dean’s face flushed scarlet when he realized their positions. He was on his back, wings fully spread beneath him to display their soft undersides, and Castiel was settled atop him, looking ever so smug.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean attempted to snark. “You used your mojo to get me into a compromising position. I call foul.”

Dean didn’t think it was possible, but in response, Castiel’s face grew even more smug. “I didn’t ‘mojo’ us over here, Dean.” Castiel paused to let that sink in. “You did.”

Dean’s eyes went round and his mouth fell open. He tried several times to say something, probably denials, but Castiel never let him find the words. He swooped down and claimed Dean’s mouth again, prompting another throaty moan and a more successful buck of Dean’s hips. The clash of hard groins jolted something in Dean’s brain and he pulled away from the kiss momentarily.

“Cas,” he gasped out raggedly, while the other continued searching out all of his most sensitive spots. “Don’t get me wrong… mmm… this is great… ooohhh… and I don’t want to stop, but… sss… what’s the deal?”

Castiel paused in his nipping and sucking and grinding to peer down at his mate, his head tilted in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Dean shivered, regretted asking. He felt like he might explode if Castiel didn’t get back to what he was doing very soon. But he forced himself to clarify and not think about the adorable head tilt that made his palms itch to hold Castiel’s face between them. “I mean, what happened to taking things slow?” Dean observed his hands, which seemed to have a mind of their own. Instead of framing Castiel’s face, they had trailed up and around his flanks and inched closer and closer to Castiel’s wings. He couldn’t decide if that was better or worse.

Castiel’s face cleared of its confusion. “Ah, I believe it is a function of our bond manifesting itself. We’ve technically been mated for several years now and have not consummated it. Now that we have become physical with each other, I’m not sure our bond will allow us to take things as slowly as we had planned. I could try to stop, if you want me to, if you’re not ready…”

“Don’t you dare!” Dean yelped, trying to ignore his mate’s smirk. “I feel like I’m gonna explode as it is.”

Dean was a terrible influence on the angel, if Castiel’s next actions proved anything. The angel above him went from smirking to leering in about two seconds; no time for Dean to do anything to prepare himself.

“Oh, you’re going to explode, alright,” Cas growled, so low Dean felt it vibrate in his chest.

Dean could only shudder and gape in response, not believing what he’d just heard. Then Castiel deliberately, slowly ground his hips down into Dean’s, and that was all she wrote. The pleasure crackling through Dean as he experienced his first orgasm as a mated angel caused the lights and TV to explode, and flashes to go off behind Dean’s eyes. Then he blacked out.

When Dean came to in the aftermath, he was still riding the amazing high. He breathed in deeply and noticed a weight on his chest. Looking down, he had to smile when he saw a familiar mop of dark brown hair resting just below his chin. It seemed that Dean’s finale had pushed Castiel over into his as well. And the angel had subsequently collapsed onto Dean’s chest. His wings were loose and covering Dean’s, draped all over the bed and hanging partially on the floor. He seemed to be unconscious. Feeling a little smug himself, Dean forced his largely unresponsive arms up and around his mate, stroking his lower back and the trailing edges of his scapular feathers. After a few moments, the light tickling roused Castiel. He lifted his head to stare blearily at Dean for a moment before dropping his head with a thump, back down on Dean’s chest.

“Ugh,” Castiel groaned into Dean’s chest.

Then the door slammed open.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Sam Winchester was a very smart man. He’d gotten a full ride to Stanford even though he’d never spent more than a couple of months at any one school. He knew several foreign languages, including Latin, Greek, and Aramaic. In addition, he was usually very intuitive. He could read people pretty well; a skill that came in mighty handy in his line of work. But there was a loophole to all of Sam’s smarts. Or perhaps, more of a blind spot. When it came to his brother Dean, Sam would fall for anything, or go charging off half-cocked, only to seriously regret it later. When he looked back at this particular moment in time, he’d know that it was one of those regrets.

After leaving the “newlyweds” to their own devices, Sam had done as Dean ordered and gotten another motel room. He even made sure to ask for one on the other side of the building. There was no way he wanted to be privy to his brother’s new married sex life. The bachelor one was bad enough and it still haunted him sometimes. So he congratulated himself for his forward thinking as he slumped on his new bed and turned on the television.

He was a half hour into some mindless drivel when the TV flickered. Sam chalked it up to poor reception and an older set when nothing else happened for several minutes. Then came the ear-piercing shriek, closely followed by a substantial shockwave that blew out the television set and all of the lights too. There was only one thing Sam could think of that gave off that kind of power: Angels. And unfortunately, it happened the most when they died. Right now, the closest angel to their location was Castiel, who was sharing a room with Sam’s older brother. Sam promptly freaked out.

The younger Winchester sprinted the length of the motel building and kicked in his brother’s door. The sight that greeted him was not what he was expecting at all. In fact, it was the very sight he’d been trying to avoid even thinking about not five minutes ago.

Dean and Castiel were on the bed, Cas on top of Dean, both shirtless, but thankfully still wearing pants. That was as much as Sam got to observe before Dean screeched.

“Sammy, what the Hell?!!”

Then he said something else that made Sam pause.

“No! Cas, it’s just Sam!”

Caught up as he was in panic, relief, and mortification, Sam had failed to notice the angel blade inches from his throat. But now that Dean had so kindly pointed it out, Sam wasn’t making any sudden movements. He watched the dark-haired angel warily for a moment until he saw sanity flood back into his eyes. Dean was speaking again.

“What the Hell, man?” he said, looking at both his brother and mate. At some point he’d sat up against the head of the bed, but Sam wasn’t sure when that might have been, preoccupied with the gleaming sliver sword still within striking distance of his throat. Sam also wasn’t sure which of them he was talking to, but he didn’t want to make a wrong move and end up a Heavenly shish kabob, so he stayed silent.

“Cas,” Dean continued after a moment, “put your sword away. Sam, again, what the Hell man?”

Sam didn’t start to speak until Cas had put his sword away with a practiced, easy motion. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, so the motion was endlessly fascinating. Sam had assumed the sword went up one of the trench coat sleeves when not in use, but now he could see that Castiel simply removed it from this plain of existence. Sam caught himself and returned to the present, clearly fighting shock.

“Um…” he said, finally blushing bright red. “All the lights in my room and the TV exploded, so I thought somebody had killed you guys?”

Dean slapped a hand over his face and dragged it down slowly. If Sam had to guess, his brother was trying to decide whether to laugh or cry.

“I apologize for that,” Castiel said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Dean and I just experienced our first coupling as a mated pair and the energy released was unintentional. Once we’ve copulated a few more times, we should be able to prevent that from happening. Also, I apologize for threatening you. It is instinct for the dominant partner in an angel mating to protect the submissive of the pair. I was not in my right state of mind when you crashed through the door,” the angel explained earnestly.

Sam looked over at his brother once again, who seemed to be hiding behind his drawn up knees, flushed red from his ears to his chest from the looks of things. Then it hit Sam, what Castiel had actually just said. He started to laugh and couldn’t stop, wheezing and giggling uncontrollably, while Dean glared and grumbled. When he was finally finished a few minutes later, and only slightly short of breath, Dean spoke again.

“You finished over there, bitch?” he growled.

A million snappy comebacks flashed through Sam’s mind at Dean’s choice of words, but in the spirit of brotherly love (and because Dean was a mean son of a bitch when truly embarrassed) he discarded them all and nodded, still grinning. Oh, his inner little brother was going to have a field day with this new material for quite some time. But it would have to wait for Dean to come to terms with being Cas’s angel-wife. Then it was so on. Sam could hardly wait.

“Good,” Dean growled again, sliding off the bed.

 _Overcompensating!_ Sam’s inner bratty ten-year-old sang with glee, but Sam maintained his semi-straight face. What he actually said, was: “I’m sorry for crashing in on you guys. I was just worried.” He put on his most irresistible kicked-puppy face (yes, he knew he did that, but would deny it forever) and bit his lip. Dean folded almost instantly, but tried to maintain his gruff exterior.

“I guess I can forgive you,” Dean huffed in annoyance, picking up his discarded shirt. He toyed with it for a moment, eyeing the garment warily, like he’d never seen one before. Finally, he turned to Cas, and uttered the most bizarre question Sam had ever heard. “How am I supposed to put this on?”

Cas’s reply was equally worthy of a head scratch. “As you normally would. They are not truly on this plain, though they can interact with solid objects in a limited manner. It is more a matter of what you want from them on a subconscious level.”

Dean nodded and hesitantly pulled his shirt over his head. He paused at his shoulders, like something might prevent him getting the shirt on all the way, and then pulled the cloth down sharply. When Dean looked pleased at that, Sam had to ask.

“Since when do you need Cas’s help getting dressed?”


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Dean thought his mortification knew no bounds when Sam burst through the door to find him and Cas in a compromising position. He was wrong. Then he thought he might just die of embarrassment when Castiel blurted out the fact that Dean was definitely not in charge. Dean might have argued the point, but figured he didn’t have a leg to stand on after the performance he’d given just minutes ago. Surely that was the most embarrassment he could feel at one time. He was wrong again. Having to explain new invisible limbs just made the top of that list. Dean wondered if God was somewhere laughing at him. Probably. Oh well. At least Cas had cleaned them up with his mojo.

He looked at his mate imploringly, but found no help there. Of course the guy who’d been created with feathers saw no shame in them. Dean however, while not ashamed per say, was uncomfortably aware that he was no longer human. And his family business was to kill most things that weren’t human. Not that he thought Sam would try to kill him, but… Damn it, Sam was still giving him the kicked-puppy face.

“Well, Sammy, I wasn’t sure if I needed to slash up the back of my shirt for my brand new wings or not,” he answered with a bit of sarcastic bite. “Turns out, they’re only substantial when I want them to be. Which, bonus, because I really didn’t want to cut up my favorite Led Zep tee.”

The expression on his brother’s face was almost worth the confession he’d just given. Gob-smacked seemed to be the appropriate term, even though Dean usually thought the phrase was ridiculous. “Excuse me?” the Sasquatch stated. “I thought you just said you have wings. Why would you have wings Dean?”

“We are not sure as of yet,” Castiel answered for him. “But I believe it to be a function of our mating. Dean would not have survived an encounter with me, no matter our bond if he’d been human at the time. That problem is solved if Dean is an angel, plus a few other logistical issues.”

Dean snorted. Trust Cas to turn even Dean Winchester sprouting wings because of his big gay love for an angel into something dry and clinical.

Sam nodded at Cas’s explanation, but seemed like he might burst with enthusiasm. Dean eyed his brother warily, sure he knew what was coming next.

“Can I see them?” he blurted out excitedly.

Dean should have put money on that. “I don’t know,” he replied. “They’re pretty much just like Cas’s wings and humans can’t look at his. Heck, I only saw shadows in the barn. Maybe I could do that?”

“Actually,” Cas interrupted, “there is a way to manifest a physical representation without harming a human’s eyes.”

Dean’s head swiveled his way so fast that he might have gotten whip lash. “Say what? Then how come you always told us no? What about us mere mortals not being able to view your true form?”

Castiel looked sheepish and embarrassed. “That is true. Humans cannot look at angelic forms directly, but a manifestation should be no problem. I only told you no in the past because I was unsure what you would think of my wings. They’re not exactly what angel wings should look like, after being burned by Hellfire.”

Dean gulped and stared at his mate. How could Castiel ever think that Dean _wouldn’t_ think his angel’s wings were awesome? Castiel stared back at Dean for a long moment before Sam interrupted with a fake cough.

“For the record,” Dean said with all the conviction he could muster, “I love your wings just like they are. I don’t care if they were a different color before you rescued me. All I see now is how much you were willing to sacrifice for me. The black suits you, anyway. Matches your hair, or whatever.” Dean blushed slightly after his declaration, knowing that it violated his own private rule against chick flick moments. Thankfully Sam didn’t comment. But Castiel’s smile was radiant, and that was what mattered. “So,” he continued, clearing his throat, “how do we show Sam the awesomeness that is our wings?”

“The same way you will them through your shirt. You have but to think about it and it will be. But perhaps you should take your shirt off again until you have more practice. It is possible to do with clothing on, but more difficult,” Cas explained.

Dean nodded and pulled off the soft cotton tee again before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Sam, close your eyes. I don’t want something to go wrong and you end up doing a Ray Charles impression,” he said before Sam could protest.

Sam obligingly closed his eyes and Dean closed his as well, in order to concentrate. He wasn’t sure how he’d know his wings were solid, since they always felt that way to him, but assumed there would be some indication. Or Cas would tell him when he’d succeeded. After a few moments, Dean cracked his eyes open again and stared at his wings. They seemed solid enough, so he cautiously stretched one out to touch the wall. The feathers went straight through and Dean felt like swearing. But he swallowed the urge in deference to his new species (that would be another thing that got old fast) and looked to Castiel instead.

“Can I look yet?” Sam asked, impatiently tapping his foot on the floor.

“Give me a sec, Sammy, jeez,” Dean responded. “It’s not like I actually know what I’m doing here. Cas, you want to give me some pointers?”

The angel narrowed his eyes before replying. “I think you are still subconsciously worried about hurting Sam,” he finally said, “which is impeding your progress. You won’t hurt your brother, Dean. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll put my wings around him to protect him while you try to manifest yours.”

Dean was unprepared for the possessive swell of jealously that flared up and all but shouted, “Absolutely not!”

Sam finally opened his eyes and snickered. “Possessive much, Dean?” he teased his older brother, who blushed nicely.

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean mumbled, then grabbed his brother by the arm.

Sam yelped. His brother’s hold was like iron and he flailed a little as Dean dragged him to the door. Sam would have to say something later, so Dean didn’t give him too many more accidental bruises, but at the moment, all he could think to say was, “Hang on! I still want to see!”

Dean shoved him out, but didn’t shut the door immediately. “I know,” he replied. “You still can, you just have to wait outside for a minute while I figure out how. After all, I can’t burn your eyes out through the door.” Then he shut the door and left Sam gaping at him.

Back inside, Castiel smiled at his mate. “You really wouldn’t have hurt him, you know. Once you realized that, it would have gone smoothly.”

“I know that, but who knows how long it would have taken me to figure that out in my head?” Dean said lightly. “Now, how do I do this? Sam will just barge back in if he thinks I’m taking too long.”

Castiel stepped closer to his mate and put two fingers on Dean’s temple. “Relax,” he said quietly. “Let me into your mind and I’ll give you the knowledge directly.”

Dean felt a pressure-that-wasn’t-pressure in his mind and suddenly, he knew how to manifest his wings, along with basic care and flight instructions. Castiel removed his fingers and smiled at Dean’s expression of wonder. He kissed his mate’s cheek and stepped back. Dean blushed again and put his hand over the spot where Castiel’s lips had rested.

“Thanks man,” he said hoarsely, and then manifested his wings physically without any fanfare. “Sam!” he called, not bothering to move.

Sam heard his brother shout and came back into the room, much less forcefully this time. The sight that greeted him was amazing. He would have said awe-inspiring had it not involved his half-naked brother staring at Castiel’s wings, which were also visible.

Dean was turned away from Sam as he came through the door, so the first thing he noticed were the dark brown spots that covered a good portion of the tawny golden feathers. The largest feathers were slightly banded at the farthest points, and there was the occasional piece of white down poking through, mostly near his shoulders. From his vantage point, Sam could also make out the underside of Castiel’s wings, which were a shimmering iridescent black. They almost looked like an oil slick, with shifting blue, green, and purple hues whenever Cas moved and caught the light a little differently.

“Holy crap,” Sam muttered, trying to take it all in.

That seemed to finally rouse Dean from the stupor he’d fallen into while staring at Castiel. He slowly turned to face his brother, an indefinable expression on his face. It wasn’t quite embarrassment, or shame, but it was close, though there was some small amount of pride mixed in there too. The contradiction was fascinating and so Dean.

“Well,” Dean started nervously, “don’t just stand there gawping. What do you think?”

Now that his brother had turned around, Sam could see the undersides of his wings as well. They were almost white with more dark bands covering most of the feathers. Sam struggled to remember where he’d seen that coloration before. It took a moment, but finally hit him.

“You look like a barn owl,” Sam blurted out.

“Excuse me?” Dean huffed, while his feathers puffed out adorably.

Sam shook his head, hoping to clear it somewhat. ( _His brother had wings! Holy crap!_ ) “Sorry,” he apologized quickly. “I just meant that judging by the shape and the coloration and markings on your feathers, your wings look like a barn owl.” Sam didn’t think he should mention that it was mostly female barn owls that had the freckle pattern.

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Why do you even know that?”

“Because Dean,” Sam said loftily, “I don’t spend my time watching Dr. Sexy and porn. I watched an owl special on PBS a while back.”

Dean rolled his eyes and flared his wings slightly. “Of course you did. So, bird boy, if I’m an owl, what the hell is Cas?”

Sam glanced at Castiel once more. “From the coloring and shape, I’d say his plumage mostly resembles a raven, though he’s a little more, um, shiny, err…” Sam blushed, feeling uncomfortable comparing an angel to a common pest bird.

But Castiel was nodding along. “Though these are just a manifestation, and not truly what Dean’s or my wings look like as the energy waves they truly are, that makes sense,” Cas agreed. “Before Hell, my wings would have manifested as deep blue and grey, with black bands, almost like a blue jay. As jays and ravens are of the same family, the shape would still be similar, though the color differs. Most angels would manifest song-bird wings, since typically our wings tie in closely to our celestial functions. We are warriors now, but originally, we were created to be hosts of choirs. So, Dean’s manifestation makes sense as well.”

“How do you figure that?” Dean asked.

“Well, for one thing, owls are birds of prey – hunters. They are silent in flight and can tackle animals much larger than themselves. There are very few angels with raptor wings. And as I said earlier, none with wings like yours.” Dean blushed at the reminder. He really didn’t like to be special.

Sam noticed the blush, but considering the context, he decided to file it under a TMI label in his brain. “So,” Sam paused, “Can I touch them, or will Cas shish kebab me?”

Dean looked at Cas, who made no indication either way, but Dean turned back to Sam and shrugged. “I guess that’s fine,” he said uncertainly. “Just be careful. They’re really sensitive.”

Sam nodded and moved forward with his hand extended. He reached for the slightly downy underside, but Dean turned his wing away, so Sam’s hand met the rougher outer feathers instead. From the corner of his eye, Sam could see Castiel squinting at him, so he tried to make it quick. They felt like any other feathers he’d touched. Not exactly soft, but smooth and with a definite grain. “What does that feel like?” he asked.

Dean shrugged, moving Sam’s hand a little more. “I dunno, like when someone runs their hand over your hair but not through it. I can feel the pressure on the feathers, through the muscle underneath, but not your hand directly.”

Sam nodded and stepped back. Castiel immediately relaxed and Sam figured the chances of that happening again would be few and far between. He wasn’t even going to ask about the angel’s black wings because Dean had very quickly nixed that idea earlier.

“Well, now you’ve seen ‘em and touched ‘em. Mind if I put my shirt back on now?” Dean asked, clearly uncomfortable with all the attention. He didn’t wait for a response before he made his wings incorporeal again and donned his t-shirt. Castiel followed suit, mojoing all his layers back on at once.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Sam knew it was going to take some time for Dean to be comfortable with his new self and didn’t take offence to his brother’s biting tone. But it was going to be hard for Sam, who was admittedly a research junkie, to curb his enthusiasm and questions for any great length of time. So he refocused his attention on their stalled case. It was now getting dark and by the time they drove to the grave site, it would be dark enough to dig without arousing suspicion.

“Sooo,” he drawled, “what are we doing about this case? Do you want to leave now, or what?”

Dean looked at Cas. “Well Cas, want to help out? We’re just doing some grave digging for a simple salt and burn.”

“I will accompany you,” Cas responded instantly. “What are the circumstances of the haunting?”

“Oh, you know,” Dean responded, while waving his hand in a vague gesture. “The usual. The spirit of a grumpy old guy is haunting his old house. Nothing too hard. But the new owners are having a hard time. He seems to be going poltergeist-y. Throwing things and breaking shit. Like I said, the usual.”

Castiel nodded and spread his wings, preparing to fly. Dean stared at him, insides going to mush at the sight of his mate’s awesome wings all spread out like that.

“Uh, Cas? What are you doing?” Dean finally asked. Sam looked at him funny, but after a moment seemed to realize what he’d missed.

“I’m going to check out the house, Dean,” Castiel stated. “Will you join me?” He held out his hand in invitation.

Dean’s face turned milk pale and then red almost immediately after. “Uh, you mean fly with you? Like fly together?” he stammered.

Castiel looked confused, and tilted his head just slightly to peer at Dean through narrowed eyes. “Of course Dean,” the older angel said slowly. “Is there a problem?” His eyes widened in concern. “Are you in pain?”

Dean’s flush deepened, spurred on by the fact that Sam was still in the room and listening raptly to their conversation. “No!” Dean denied quickly. “They’re fine. It’s just, well, um…” Dean trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck.

Sam stepped in. “What my brother is trying to say is that he’s afraid to fly. It’s not the whole bathroom issue that he’s objected to this whole time you’ve been transporting us places, it’s the fact that his feet leave the ground. Plus, he has an unhealthy attachment to his car.” Sam turned to Dean and continued. “You aren’t really going to still drive everywhere are you?”

Dean glared. “That’s none of your business Sammy,” he snipped in embarrassment. “Besides, there’s no law that says just because I’ve got wings that I have to use them.” He turned away from Sam during his last sentence just in time to see Castiel’s face fall. “What now?” he asked the angel somewhat harshly.

“You really don’t want to fly with me, Dean?” Castiel asked sadly. “Not even once?”

The look on Castiel’s face made Dean feel like he’d been punched in the gut. He’d screwed up somehow, but he really didn’t know what he’d done. The whole “afraid of flying” issue was common knowledge in their little family, and Dean wasn’t sure how Castiel had missed the memo. The hunter had a bad feeling that it somehow had to do with being mates. Like he was breaking some big traditional angel custom by refusing to fly with his – with Cas. He had to tread carefully here.

“I don’t know about _never_ , Cas,” Dean hedged. “But I’m still feeling a little off kilter here. After all, I’ve only had wings for a few hours now. Maybe let me just get used to them being there before I go flying around the countryside, huh?”

“But I gave you detailed flight instructions when I showed you how to manifest them physically,” Cas argued, wearing his squinty-eyed look, like he was one step from following through on his old threat and throwing Dean back into Hell. “I don’t understand the problem.”

“Why is this such a big deal?” Dean countered, evading the question, and glaring. But the guilt he felt made his wings curl uncomfortably close to his shoulders and spine, tense and nervous. Meanwhile, Castiel’s wings were slightly flared with a small amount of aggression and raised above his shoulder level in a dominant position.

Sam looked between the pair and decided he wanted no part in a marital squabble between two of the most stubborn jackasses on the planet. He backed slowly toward the door and made his escape without either one noticing. As he made his way back to his room, he shook his head. That honeymoon sure hadn’t lasted very long.

Back in Dean’s room, the tension still hadn’t snapped. Dean and Castiel were still staring at each other, not talking and not moving. Finally, Castiel let out a resigned sigh and lowered his wings in resignation. They slumped behind his shoulders and curled slightly around his arms. Dean’s only tightened even more, almost to the point of pain, at the new guilt this inspired. He didn’t know what to say. Fortunately, Castiel began speaking first.

“I’m sorry Dean,” he said, eyes downcast. “I’d just hoped that your first flight would be with me.”

Now Dean was confused. “Cas, it probably will be,” he said. “It’s not like I’m going to try flying by myself, you know. I’m just not ready right this second. I know you downloaded the how to manual straight into my head via mind meld, but that doesn’t mean I’m comfortable with it. I’m still trying to wrap my head around not being human anymore.”

There was a sad wistfulness in Dean’s tone that bothered the angel. In a moment, he’d figured out the problem. “Is that what this is?” he asked gently. “You are ashamed? Dean, this was a gift from God. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Not ashamed exactly, Cas,” Dean hedged once again. “Just, well… Look, I spent my whole life thinking, knowing I was one thing. I was a human. I had limitations, but I was happy with that. The way I was raised didn’t leave much room for other categories. There were humans, who were sometimes scumbags, and there was everything not human lurking in the dark, waiting to eat us. So we killed them. Now I don’t know where I fit anymore. Truthfully, I haven’t known for a while. But this kind of brought everything to a head.”

Castiel took three precise steps to reach his mate and wrapped him in his arms and wings. “I’m sorry you feel that way Dean,” he soothed. “But I think your definitions simply need a little adjusting.” Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Castiel continued right over whatever it was he was going to say. “For instance, how do you define me? I’m not “human”, but I’m certainly no monster either. I know you haven’t thought of me as such for some years now. How do I fit in your worldview?”

Dean buried his face in Castiel’s shoulder before answering, avoiding eye contact. “You were always the exception,” he mumbled into the beige fabric. He pulled away slightly to continue. “Even when you came busting in the barn through a shower of sparks; scared as I was, and confused as I was, there was something about you that screamed safe. I guess I know now that it was our bond in action, but back then, you were an enigma. The only exception to a basic rule that had kept me alive for a long time. As much as I raged at the fact, I knew from the moment you told me you were an angel that you were telling the truth. But it was only you. Every other angel I met set off my monster alarm like nobody’s business. They had fancier packaging, but deep down, they were all just monsters. I guess I just lumped myself in there with them.”

Castiel was stunned by his mate’s revelation. He’d known that Dean had a low opinion of himself, something Castiel was hoping to correct with time, but he had no idea it was this pervasive. He squeezed the man gently in reassurance. “There is no monster here in this room, Dean,” Castiel said. “Your father’s teachings were very black and white in a world of myriad greys. I know you know this, because I have seen with my own eyes your compassion for creatures he would have deemed monsters. What I don’t know is why you won’t let yourself believe you fall into the same category. No, you are no longer technically human, but you are still the same man. You have the same memories, the same tastes and appetites, the same wonderfully abrasive personality I have grown to love, and the very same free will, thanks to your hard work stopping the apocalypse. In short you are still you, despite the grace and wings. You simply have a few new weapons in your arsenal. Surely John Winchester would not frown on that, at least?” Cas finished lightly, hoping to get a chuckle from his mate.

Dean huffed and Castiel counted it as a win, even as Dean drew away from him.

“No, Dad never was one to question a new weapon,” Dean replied. “I don’t even know why I care though!” he burst out. “Dad’s dead and gone, and he’s not coming back! It shouldn’t matter what he thinks, but it does. I just don’t get it Cas. And much as I worshipped the man when he was alive… With some distance, I know he was a single-minded, neglectful, alcoholic asshole. But he was my dad, you know?”

“You know that I understand Dean,” Castiel said, running a soothing hand over Dean’s incorporeal feathers. “You told me yourself, back when we killed the whore that our “daddy issues” are remarkably the same. I have many of the same doubts as you do regarding my Father. But as you said, despite this recent gift to us, he is unlikely to return, and I must do my best to reconcile myself to that fact. And to the idea that he no longer cares what happens to his creations.”

Dean crowded back into his mate. “How are you doing with that?” he asked sincerely. “Maybe I can learn from you.”

“It is still a struggle for me,” Castiel admitted, his tone mimicking the one he used when he told Dean that he was not a hammer. He moved a hand to card through Dean’s hair, making the same motions he was using on his feathers. “I’m afraid I don’t have a good answer for you.”

Dean sighed and held his mate for another moment before backing away. Castiel let him go, watching the twitching limbs on Dean’s back curiously. The man was nervous about something. Castiel had to suppress a grin, since he knew Dean wasn’t nervous about the upcoming hunt. It could really only be one other thing at the moment.

“So Cas,” Dean began hoarsely, even after clearing his throat, “want to take me flying?”

The megawatt smile that engendered made Dean blush, and even more so when Castiel grabbed his mate playfully. He spun the younger man around and pulled back sharply, so their bodies were flush together. Dean’s back was against Castiel’s chest, with his wings spread to the sides.

“Do as I do,” Castiel growled into Dean’s ear, nipping the shell lightly.

Dean shivered and nodded, unable to speak. He felt Castiel spread his dark wings and copied him, pressing his tawny wings back against their larger counterparts. A gasp fell from him at the sensation of feathers rubbing against each other, and he swallowed hard.

“Cas,” he croaked, “keep that up and we’re gonna blow the rest of the light bulbs in this joint.”

Castiel didn’t answer except to hum and pull Dean closer, one hand across his chest and the other just below his waist. He nuzzled the back of Dean’s neck and Dean could feel the growing arousal from the being behind him. He ground his hips back thoughtlessly, almost involuntarily, and then Castiel beat his wings, forcing Dean to do the same. Dean felt a rushing sensation and then they were in front of the haunted house. Castiel caressed Dean’s wings with his own one more time before stepping back.

A breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding burst out of Dean’s lungs as he struggled to regain his composure. He whirled around to face a smirking Castiel.

“What the hell man?!” Dean hissed, trying and failing to surreptitiously adjust his pants. Castiel tracked the movement with his eyes, which only annoyed Dean all the more. “You can’t just spring something like that on me!”

Castiel didn’t look the least bit apologetic. “You weren’t frightened though, were you?” he asked smugly.

“That’s not the point!” Dean retorted.

“Of course it was,” Castiel said calmly, the smirk fading away.

Unable to think of an appropriate come back for that, Dean turned away petulantly and crossed his arms. All he needed was to stomp his foot to complete the picture of a pouting child. Although he thought it, Castiel was wise enough NOT to say that out loud.

“Just so you know, I’ll be driving back once Sam gets here with the Impala,” Dean told him, still facing the other way.

“Of course Dean,” Castiel agreed, amusement clear in his voice.

Dean wheeled around. “Don’t you dare pull a, ‘Yes, Dear,’ on me, you son of a bitch! It’s not freaking funny!”

But Castiel was still smiling at him – a small closed mouth one that was beginning to grow. Dean felt his face trying to respond and huffed in annoyance, vainly trying to also hold on to his righteous indignation. Finally, Castiel was downright grinning at him. The gummy smile drew an eye roll from Dean and a small smile of his own.

“Still not cool Cas,” Dean finally said, but his anger was mostly gone, replaced by affectionate mild annoyance.

“Will you still be riding with Sam?” Castiel asked mock innocently, knowing Dean could never resist that kind of challenge.

This time, Dean laughed. “You suck,” he said, without any heat, and belying his words by stepping into Castiel’s personal space again. “But don’t think I won’t get you back for it.”

Castiel hummed and tugged Dean in for a kiss. Dean went willingly for a moment, then shoved the angel away abruptly. Castiel made a disappointed sound.

“We’re working. Head in the game, Cas,” Dean admonished.

Castiel narrowed his eyes for a moment, before spreading his wings and disappearing. He was back before Dean had time to protest or call out for him.

“What was that about?” Dean growled. “I say something you don’t like and you fly away?”

“You will not need to call your brother after all,” Castiel stated blandly, ignoring Dean’s aggressive tone. “Or worry about getting a ride.”

“I won’t have to… Cas, what did you just do?”

“I eliminated our problem, Dean. Now there will be no need to involve Sam,” he paused, “and we have the rest of the night to ourselves.”

“Pretty confident there, Cas.” Dean snorted. “Maybe I want to hang out with Sam in a bar.”

Castiel didn’t reply to Dean’s words. He stalked forward, crowding his mate up against a large tree. He leaned in as far as he could, pressing himself against the other man to growl into his ear. “Are you sure?”

Dean swallowed hard and looked up into the tree’s branches, wondering if he should call their bluffs. He ultimately decided (after about ten seconds’ deliberation) that the risk versus reward was simply too high. He sighed. “What did you have in mind Cas?”

Since the angel had not moved from his spot against Dean, he merely bucked his hips at the same time he nibbled Dean’s earlobe.

Dean thought he might self-combust. It was a good thing he was still against the tree because once again his knees didn’t want to support him. It was a disturbing trend for a man who, until recently, had considered himself a capable, experienced and dominant figure in the bedroom. But Castiel was blowing all of his former notions away like cobwebs.

Castiel was undoubtedly the dominant figure in their relationship, a fact that had been driven home so well, Dean didn’t even try to protest. But that didn’t mean he was just going to roll over, either. They were “destined mates” or whatever for a reason. So it stood to reason that his personality (rash, crude, stubborn, loyal to a fault) would have to be part of that.

Another nibble drew him out of his contemplation. He focused on Castiel’s face for the first time in several minutes. The bastard was smirking at him _again_. He _knew_ what he’d done and was _still_ doing to Dean. Dean narrowed his eyes. So it was gonna be like that, huh? Well, not tonight. Dean came up with an impromptu plan on the spot.

Step one: lull his target into a false sense of security. Dean relaxed against the tree and tilted his head back to bare his throat. A calculated submissive gesture. One Castiel fell for, as he buried his nose in the join of Dean’s neck and shoulder.

Step two: get into a better position. That was trickier. Castiel was leaned fully into him, barely supporting his own weight. Dean moved his arms around Castiel’s waist and lightly ran his hands up the deceptively broad back. He teased the ends of Castiel’s feathers but didn’t make full contact. Castiel arched his back to get more of Dean’s hands, taking some of the weight off of Dean’s chest in the process.

Step three: the hardest of all. Escape contact and fly away. He continued to barely caress Castiel’s tertiary feathers, keeping the older angel searching for better contact. After a few minutes of this, Castiel growled and stood up. Dean almost cheered. It was Castiel’s turn to narrow his eyes in suspicion, finally getting a clue as to what Dean’s plan might be.

But it was too late. Dean whipped his hands around and _shoved_ Castiel as hard as he could. The angel staggered back several paces with a confused expression on his face. Dean smiled and took a step to the side. He opened his wings and beat them hard. Castiel had downloaded all the practical knowledge earlier and Dean now took full advantage. He launched himself toward Sam. The last thing he saw before slipping between planes was Castiel’s astonished face.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Sam was back in his own room, safe from angelic marital squabbles for the moment. He was sorting things for the upcoming hunt into a duffle bag. He’d just picked up a sawed off shot gun loaded with salt rounds when he heard rustling and a thump, followed shortly by braying laughter. He spun around with the gun in his hand, only to see Dean on his ass in between the bed and the wall. He was laughing like a maniac at full volume.

“Dean?” Sam asked, bewildered.

“Showed that bastard,” he crowed, his laughter dying out.

 _Oh no_ , Sam thought, just as Castiel materialized into the room as well. He was wearing his squinty-eyed-I-will-smite-you look. Fortunately, it was directed at Dean and not Sam. Maybe he wasn’t as safe from angelic marital squabbles as he’d first thought, though he couldn’t think of anything even Dean might have done to earn him that look.

Castiel nodded at Sam politely, despite the scary look and began to slowly advance on Dean’s position.

“Shit!” Dean said, scrambling up from the floor and across the bed, maneuvering himself behind Sam’s taller frame like his younger brother was some kind of human shield. Cas kept coming anyway, like he’d go right through Sam if need be. Dean peeked out and quickly ducked back behind him, when faced with Cas’s stare of doom.

Sam couldn’t restrain himself any longer, even though he was pretty sure he didn’t want to know. “What the hell, man?”

Dean tore his eyes from Castiel for a moment to answer him. “We took care of the ghost, Sammy…” Cas growled. “Okay, Cas took care of the ghost. Then we uh… had some words and I may or may not have led him on a little then flew away.” Castiel growled again, louder this time. Dean froze for a moment before shaking it off. “So… if anything else explodes tonight, don’t come running. I won’t be held responsible if Cas kills you in a fit of jealous rage.”

“And if he kills _you_?”

“Oh, it won’t quite come to that,” Castiel finally spoke. “I have much more long term plans for your brother, Sam.”

Dean squeaked and abruptly vanished. Sam was treated to a very disturbing smile that slowly spread across Castiel’s face before he too was gone. Sam sighed and his shoulders slumped. He threw the useless gun on the bed and contemplated the logistics of actual brain bleach. At the very least he needed a strong drink.

Dean knew he was in serious trouble. The moment Castiel had popped into Sam’s motel room, the set of his wings told Dean everything he needed to know. They were arched high and spread out, feathers bristling; aggressive in the extreme. And the stare and the growling didn’t help at all.

Dean could only hope it was mostly an act for the sake of the game Dean had thought he was playing. Like an elaborate version of chase around the bed. But what if Castiel didn’t understand? Oh God, Dean had only meant to rile him up a little. He didn’t consider that Cas was a virgin with _no_ experience. And Castiel was a powerful _dominant_ angel. If he thought Dean was serious… Well, Dean had watched enough nature documentaries on PBS to know he might be in for a rough night.

He landed in their room and immediately started stripping. Hopefully, the sight of Dean willingly participating would garner him some mercy. He’d managed to toe off his shoes and was tangled in his t-shirt, unable to see anything, when Castiel announced his presence with a growl. Dean paused with his shirt still over his head. “Uh, hi Cas,” he bleated. _Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit_ ran through his mind on a loop.

“Don’t stop on my account,” the angel replied in a deceptively calm tone.

Dean pulled the shirt off, barely, before Castiel was on him. The backs of his legs hit the hit the bed and down he went, with a pissed off angel of the lord straddling his stomach. Castiel had a hold on his wrists, pinning him to the mattress. Dean’s wings stretched almost involuntarily into the most submissive pose he could manage. He bared his throat again and froze, real fear beginning to seep in around the edges of his mind.

Castiel leaned down, putting his nose mere inches from Dean’s. The hunter’s eyes were wide and his breathing was a little ragged. Castiel leaned down farther into his neck, and for some reason Dean expected to be bitten.

When Dean had winged away from him, Castiel was stunned. He’d been frozen to the spot for a few moments, trying to wrap his head around what his mate had just done. He realized that Dean’s quick and easy submission had been part of his ploy all along. Really, the angel should have known better. If their shared history was anything to go by, Dean was not one to just accept defeat. And it wasn’t like him to just fold like that. Dean was playing with him.

When he’d gathered enough wits to follow the errant younger angel, Castiel did so with alacrity. He was easily able to follow Dean’s flight path, though he could have guessed where the man went anyway, had that not been the case. Winchesters were predictable. As he suspected, when Castiel landed he was in Sam’s motel room and Dean hid behind his brother.

Castiel was excited about this new twist to their relationship. The look on Dean’s face when Castiel materialized in the room was enough to get Castiel gloating – internally of course. Outwardly, he showed all the classic signals of being, as Dean would say, “pissed”. His enjoyment of the moment was only heightened when Dean responded with the appropriate submissive gestures. Castiel knew that some of them were completely involuntary, just as his protection reflex had been earlier, but they made this game that much more fun. He’d heard talk in Heaven long ago that chasing one’s mate was stimulating, but he had no idea how true that was until just now.

As Dean flew the short distance to their own room, he finally allowed his true feelings to show on his face. Judging by Sam’s expression, they were entirely clear. Castiel was greatly enjoying this little game of chase that Dean had started. He flew away from Sam and touched down in Dean’s (their?) motel room to find a truly marvelous sight. Dean was stripping with all due haste, apparently just as eager as Castiel. He paused when he sensed Castiel appear, and that just wouldn’t do.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he teased his mate. As soon as Dean was no longer tangled in his t-shirt, Castiel pounced, enjoying himself greatly. Dean’s pose on the bed was nearly Castiel’s undoing, with the soft undersides of Dean’s wings showing and the position allowing for easy access to the shoulder joints underneath (and consequently the tiny oil glands hidden there). Unbidden, Dean offered Castiel his throat and waited. The angel was nearly overcome with emotion – that Dean would trust him so much… He leaned in to scent his mate and perhaps plant a gentle kiss on that vulnerable flesh when he paused. Dean was trembling lightly and his breaths were uneven. Castiel would have put that down to arousal and anticipation had he not also smelled the beginnings of fear start to bloom around his mate.

Castiel sat up abruptly, releasing Dean’s wrists in the process. He was still straddling Dean’s waist, but he was alarmed when Dean exhaled a shaky breath, that Dean probably didn’t even know he’d been holding. Castiel looked more closely at his mate’s current state and cursed himself lightly. Dean was truly frightened, and that wouldn’t do at all. His eyes were still wide, with most of the white showing, but he was beginning to look confused. Did Dean not know they were playing? Did he think Castiel was truly upset with him? How could he fix this? Castiel didn’t even know where he’d gone wrong. He’d been following Dean’s cues all along. But that didn’t matter right now. Getting Dean calm and relaxed was the priority. They could discuss things afterward.

Dean was definitely confused. They’d gone from full body contact and feral mating impulses to absolute stillness in the blink of an eye. Cas was sitting on him, looking stricken, and Dean was trying to get his thoughts back in order. He wasn’t used to all these new feelings and instincts yet, so they were warring with his rational thinking and his body’s desires, making him second guess himself. The silence stretched on for an uncomfortable amount of time, with him and Cas just staring at each other. Dean snorted lightly, slightly calmer. Some things never changed.

At hearing Dean’s snort, Castiel cocked his head and finally broke the silence. “What just happened, Dean?” he asked. And to Dean’s ears, the question held all the gravity of one of their former conversations about stopping the Apocalypse.

Dean swallowed hard and shrugged the best he was able, still laid out on his back. Cas narrowed his eyes and leaned down again slowly. Dean’s heart sped up a beat or two and Castiel paused, eyes going wide. “You are truly frightened,” he stated, shocked. Then he vanished off the bed and reappeared standing across the room. Dean leaned up on his elbows to look at him. “What happened Dean?” he asked again, more insistently.

Castiel was shocked and a little bit hurt by Dean’s fear of him. He knew talking about it would make Dean uncomfortable and probably angry, but he needed to know how to fix this. “Dean,” he said more gently than his last question, “Please tell me.”

Dean sat up completely and swung his legs off the mattress. He stared at the floor with his jaw clenched and wings drawn up tight. Castiel slowly walked the few steps to the bed and sat, just as he’d done this morning. He hoped Dean would respond the same way and open up to him. They sat silently for a few minutes before Castiel’s patience was rewarded and Dean began to talk.

“I really don’t know what happened, Cas,” he admitted quietly, still staring at the floor. “One minute I was having a good time and the next, it was all super intense, and… I got scared,” he finished in a whisper.

Castiel furrowed his brow in thought. “Were you afraid that I would hurt you?” he asked solemnly, trying to draw out Dean’s short answer.

Dean flushed and glanced at him before going back to staring at the carpet. “I dunno. Maybe? I just got to thinking and…” he trailed of, frustratingly.

“Explain it to me, Dean. Start from when we were against the tree. I don’t want this to happen again. You should _never_ be afraid of me like that.” Dean flushed a deeper red and his wings shifted agitatedly against his back, but he didn’t say anything further. Weighing his options, Castiel took Dean’s hand in his own and hazarded a guess based on his knowledge of Dean’s past sexual history. “Were you uncomfortable because I am the dominant partner in our relationship?”

Dean snorted again in mild amusement, though Castiel did not know its cause and squeezed the angel’s hand. “That’s part of it,” he began, taking a deep breath. “But mostly, it’s just that I don’t know how to read you, man. I still don’t know if you were _really_ pissed at me for flying away from you or if it was an act. I didn’t really think before I did it, because you just seemed so sure of yourself after releasing that spirit. I wanted the same thing, but I also wanted to knock you down a peg or two. I dunno, show you I’m not gonna just roll over for you or whatever. But then you were all scary intense and I thought maybe you didn’t know it was just a game of chase and I panicked because, well, you _are_ the dominant one and I don’t know anything about how all this angel shit works and I’ve never wanted _that_ before, and then you were all up in my neck, like you were gonna bite me or some shit and all I could think about were stupid nature documentaries I’ve seen about, uh, female animals that play hard to get and…”

Castiel stopped Dean’s rambling by gently reaching up to turn his face and kissing him mid-sentence. The tension that had been growing in Dean popped suddenly. He relaxed and turned to mold himself to Castiel’s side in a clinging hug. His eyes were shut tight, face buried in Castiel’s shoulder, and his fists clenched in Castiel’s shirt. Dean’s wings swung around, seeking contact as well and Castiel lifted his slightly away from his back so Dean could tuck his tawny feathers underneath Castiel’s ebony ones.

Minus the embrace of wings, it was very similar to the night Castiel had declared his feelings. It had the same weight associated as well, though Castiel hoped they could work through this latest hurdle faster than the last one. Castiel looped his free arm around Dean as best he could and stretched out his wing on the side his mate was clinging to, in order to further embrace him. Dean shuddered once and then exhaled strongly against Castiel’s neck, any remaining tension bleeding from him.

“I think,” Castiel said at length, “we should try to remember to take things slowly. For all we are each other’s closest friend, we don’t know each other or ourselves in this context. I believe that is the root of our current trouble. Neither of us know what to expect from any of this, so there are… misunderstandings.”

Dean very nearly laughed at that massive understatement, but held back. He didn’t feel much like laughing anyway. But he did disentangle himself from Cas, who was reluctant to let him go. Dean gave him a smile he didn’t quite feel and it must have shown, because Cas reached out and petted his feathers softly. Unlike all the other electrically charged exchanges of before, this simply felt like comfort, like a supportive hand on his shoulder or arm. His next smile was more genuine and Cas returned it in kind.

“I know you don’t sleep,” Dean began, “and I don’t know if I even really _need to_ or not anymore, but I’m tired. It’s been a hell of a day and I’d like to go to bed.” Castiel nodded and stood. “I’d also like it if you’d join me,” Dean added quietly.

Dean’s declaration that he needed sleep concerned Castiel. He wondered if Dean would use this to distance himself from his mate. But the soft request to accompany him lifted his spirits greatly. He nodded and began to shuck his layers of clothing the human way as Dean stood and did the same.

Once all of Dean’s nightly rituals were completed and the lights off, both men were under the thin motel blankets, lying stiffly apart and uncomfortable. Dean was the first to break. He rolled toward Castiel and carefully maneuvered his wings around so that one stretched behind him and the other tentatively covered Dean and part of the other angel. Castiel took the opening and mirrored his position. They wound up lying close together, with their arms and wings thrown over one another. Dean sighed in contentment he’d never admit to in the morning and drifted off. Castiel kept watch as he always did and always would. He began to hum lowly.

Before Dean fell completely asleep, he heard Castiel singing softly in the darkness. _Everything I do, I do it for you._

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> After a last read through, I realized that the movie Cas and Dean are watching could be one of two, based on my very vague descriptions. They are actually watching Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. (The other one, in case someone is interested, is The Three Musketeers.)


End file.
